Castles In The Air
by Lasrevinu
Summary: I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship. GSR
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Rating: T

Spoilers: If it has aired, it is game.

A/N: I received much encouragement and help from she-who-shall-remain-nameless. Thanks!

****

Castles In The Air

I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.

Louisa May Alcott

Chapter 1

She walked alongside Grissom, down the hall and to an evidence room where Greg had been cataloguing the contents from a missing woman's purse. Shannon Carmichael was a curator at the natural history museum; she had moved to Las Vegas from Philadelphia a few years ago to head up a department in the museum. Sara glanced at her dossier. Shannon was thirty-five. She lived alone. A graduate of Tufts University, she put herself through school by working part time at Fenway Park. Sara had seen Grissom give an involuntary smile at this when Brass gave them the rundown on Shannon. _What's she got that I don't? _Sara asked herself. _Maybe if I go missing…_

"Sara, did you hear me?"

She turned to look at Grissom as they reached the evidence room. "What?"

"I said we'll probably have to go interview her boss again."

"Fine. Sounds good."

He gave her an odd look and then addressed Greg, who was leaning over a well-lit table with Shannon's purse sitting on top and intently surfing the internet on his little laptop.

"I paged you guys twenty minutes ago," he told them.

Grissom narrowed his eyes at the young CSI. "I hope the site you're on is case-related."

Greg rolled his eyes and picked up a sheet of paper with one of his gloved hands. "I found this in Shannon's purse. She recently updated her résumé."

"I thought she just got a promotion. Why would she be looking for a new job?" Grissom said, confused.

Greg shrugged. "Maybe she got tired of Vegas. It's not exactly for everybody."

Grissom and Sara studied Shannon's résumé. It was impressive -- a year at Sorbonne, a PhD in history. It was obvious she dedicated her life to her work, to bettering herself. All of her accomplishments were on that page.

"There was, uh, nothing else special in her purse," he said, rifling through the things on the table. "Hair brush, lipstick -- nice color -- no wallet or keys. No day planner or PDA, either."

"Possible robbery," Grissom observed to Sara as they took time to comb over the processed evidence.

"Emily, Emma, Madison, Olivia," Greg said under his breath as he scrolled down the screen of his laptop.

"Uh…excuse me?" Sara asked.

"I'm on a site that has top baby names." Greg pursed his lips as he perused the list.

Grissom raised his brows. "Are you…congratulations in order?" he asked with a half-horrified look on his face.

"Oh, no," the young man answered quickly, chuckling. "Just thinking. I hit the big 3-0 last year. Gettin' on in years. Gotta start thinking about, you know, marriage and kids…the whole shebang. Huh. Gregory is apparently not in the top ten."

"That just makes you more original, Greg," Sara told him, laughing a little at the concerned look on his face.

"You're right. I'll make a mental note not to name my kids any names on this list," he said, cheering up. "Unique is better. What do you think of Cicero Sanders? Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"O…_kay_," Grissom said. "Call Brass and have him start working on that warrant." He turned to look at Sara. "Let's go to the museum."

Sara smiled at Greg. "Have fun, Daddy-O."

They walked to the parking lot and Sara found herself laughing.

"What's so funny?"

She shook her head. "Just…the idea of Greg as someone's father."

"The urge to procreate is as old as human beings themselves," Grissom noted, shrugging his shoulders as they got into the car.

Sara didn't agree. She didn't dare say so, but she did not believe that the urge to have children was in any way a universal human trait. She was terrified of having children. The very idea of another human being looking to her for nurturing and guidance made her heart beat and her head ache. Sara knew nothing about children, had learned nothing from her mother, save for perhaps not killing a spouse while a child watched. Kids needed more than she had to give.

She sat quietly in the passenger's seat while Grissom drove them to the museum. "Shannon's boss has no alibi," he told her.

"He's the one who reported her missing," Sara reminded him. "And we have no time of abduction. No ransom note. No body. The guy says he was at work and home and nothing else. No evidence we have says anything to the contrary."

"Well, apparently he knew her best," Grissom surmised as he pulled into the museum parking lot. "He has to have some insight into her state of mind at the time of her disappearance."

"Maybe they were having an affair," Sara said as she got out of the car. Grissom was still for a moment before he followed suit.

Once in the museum, Sara drew in a breath. All museums smelled the same way. It was a good smell, a distinct one. She always liked walking though them, seeing the beautiful and interesting things on the wall and imagining herself as part of them. They stopped at a large display case of butterflies.

"You know," Grissom began, "on its annual fall migration to Mexico, the monarch butterfly uses the angle of sunlight to navigate its way."

He continued to talk of the polarization of light and the intricacies of the butterfly's brain, but Sara barely heard every other word. A group of schoolchildren ambled by, walking in two straight lines, obviously on a class trip. A wisp of white-blonde hair caught her eye. It was longer, more straggly than Sara remembered. The girl was small for her age, thin. She'd be about nine now, Sara guessed.

She turned her head, as if she knew that Sara had been watching her. Their gazes met and the CSI felt her heart stop. Little Brenda's eyes were still haunted. Her classmates fidgeted as the docent calmly described the display of water buffalo. But Brenda remained still. Her pale face seemed to glow in the golden light of the museum and Sara shuddered. She was a ghost from her past, a reminder of her childhood.

"…And so that's how they compensate for the time of day."

Sara looked up at Grissom as he finished his mini-lecture.

"Are you okay, Sara? You seem…out of it."

"I'm fine," she assured him before turning her head back to the buffalo. The children were gone.

"Let's, uh…go talk to Shannon Carmichael's boss," Grissom said, ushering Sara down the hall.

They met with Ned Meyers in his office. He eagerly answered the CSI's questions about his missing employee and her work habits. He seemed genuinely worried, but Sara knew that criminals were sometimes proficient actors.

"Did you know Shannon was thinking about having a baby?" she asked.

Meyers widened his eyes. "With whom?"

Sara shook her head, unwilling to go into details. "She was just…contemplating motherhood."

Shannon's boss looked deflated. "I…didn't know that."

Sara raised her brows. "Was that a subject you would have discussed with Miss Carmichael?"

Meyers shook his head. "Uh…no. It's just…well, it's a surprise, that's all."

They left the museum learning little. It was almost noon and both CSIs were well into dayshift by the time Grissom dropped Sara off in the LVPD parking lot so she could take her car home. She mumbled her goodbye and walked in the direction of her car. Once in the driver's seat, Sara sat staring at her cell phone. She could still see Brenda's young face, her big eyes staring back at her. Nine-years-old. Maybe ten. The once pristine bob haircut was replaced with longer strands of hair that needed a trim. Her clothes looked worn and old. Hand-me-downs, Sara assumed. The kind that got passed down to you when a foster sibling grew out of them. Sara knew that well.

She squeezed her eyes shut and gave in to impulse. Sara dialed for directory assistance and got the number for Child Services. Using her city credentials, she was able to finagle some information about the little girl.

"Has something come up with regards to the murder of Brenda's parents?" the social worker asked.

Sara explained the situation and her concern for the little girl.

"Brenda is in a group home right now," the social worker told her. "I have her file in front of me. She hasn't responded well to the two families we placed her with early on."

"Oh," was all Sara said. She knew about that, about other families. Some could be great, she acknowledged. But some…were not.

"We have a mentoring program that pairs some of our children with adults. If you'd be interested in that…"

"I don't think…um, no," Sara said. "I was just…I just wanted to check up on Brenda. To make sure she was alright."

"Very well."

Sara hung up the phone and stared at it in her lap. She cursed, picked it up, and hit redial. "Hi…where do I sign up?"

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She was tempted to wear sunglasses and a baseball cap so no one would notice her. After she had been properly screened and deemed safe, an appointment was set up for Sara and Brenda on a sunny Saturday morning. Sara had talked briefly on the phone with the little girl, who seemed none too excited about the prospect of doing anything. Sara wondered if she was doing the right thing, if her presence would only remind Brenda of the night her family died, of the abuse she suffered at the hands of the man who was supposed to protect her.

Over the phone Sara suggested the planetarium and Brenda responded with the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

"Would you like to go somewhere else?" she asked nervously. "We could go to an amusement park."

"The planetarium is fine," Brenda mumbled.

"Okay. Good. Good," Sara said, smiling in fear, her teeth clenched. She wondered if Brenda would react once she saw her, once she knew who she was.

When she picked Brenda up at the group home the next day, Sara got her answer. The sluggish little girl who was waiting at the doorway with her caseworker stood ramrod straight when she recognized the CSI who had stayed with her throughout devastating trauma.

Sara made sure Brenda was secure in the backseat before getting into the driver's seat and pulling out of her parking space. She looked at her in the rearview mirror. Brenda was staring at her hands. Her hair had been brushed, but still looked unkempt. Sara bit her lip. "Uh…do you remember me?" she asked softly.

Brenda nodded. "You were there. You helped me."

Sara felt her stomach tie itself in knots. "Yes," she said, barely audible.

"You didn't ask me a lot of questions. Everybody asks me questions now," Brenda sighed, looking out the window.

"We don't have to talk about…anything you don't want to."

"Okay."

The rest of the ride was silent. Sara kept glancing at the little girl's reflection, hoping to see…something. A smile? Enthusiasm? The same vacant look she had come to associate with Brenda was still very much the girl's main expression.

They arrived at the planetarium. Sara opened the car door for Brenda and she slid off of the seat. They walked into the air-conditioned planetarium and bought two tickets.

"The main show in the theater is in a half hour," Sara said, checking her watch. "Do you want to look around until then?"

"Okay."

The halls were dark, lit only by footlights and bright sculptures of the solar system. They stood silently as a mechanical moon encircled the earth. A nearby child pushed a button and Neil Armstrong's famous words wafted through the dark hall.

"Do you have a favorite planet?" Sara asked.

Brenda tilted her head and considered. "That one," she said, pointing.

"Saturn," Sara said. "Very nice."

"I like the loops."

Sara smiled. "Those are Saturn's rings. Maybe we'll get a book at the gift shop on the way out. Come on," she said, placing her hand on Brenda's shoulder, "the show is about to start."

They sat in the theater, staring at the lit ceiling, which sparkled in comets and meteors and constellations. The narrator had a nice, deep voice that lulled the audience. Sara would sneak peeks and the little girl sitting to her right every so often. Brenda was enthralled by the spectacle. She watched the sky and Sara watched her.

When it was over, they headed to the gift shop. Brenda seemed uneasy about picking something, so Sara found what she assumed would be a good book for a nine-year old who wanted to know more about the solar system. "This one looks good," she said, handing it to Brenda to inspect. "Do you see anything else you like?"

She shook her head. Sara paid for the book and they walked back to the car, the intense Nevada sun's warmth and bright light a big difference from the cool, climate-controlled darkness of the planetarium.

"Do you want to go for some ice cream before I take you back?"

Brenda stood staring straight ahead for a long moment.

"Brenda?"

"Yes."

There was an old soda fountain shop close by, a place that looked like it had been there since the days the Rat Pack ruled the Strip. Brenda brought her book with her and they flipped through it as they ate their ice cream sundaes.

"Hey," Sara said, swallowing a mouthful of ice cream, "it says here that Saturn's rings are made out of chunks of rocks and ice."

"But they're so pretty," Brenda countered.

"It's amazing how something that you don't think is pretty really is pretty when you look at it a different way."

The little girl considered this and then went back to studying the book.

"Do you like school, Brenda?"

She shook her head. "I'm not good at it."

Sara raised her eyebrows. When she had been in a similar situation, school was her refuge. She wasn't the most beautiful, she wasn't the most popular. But she had been the smartest. It was the one thing a young Sara had control over. She couldn't do anything about the space in her teeth. She couldn't do anything about the attitudes of her fellow students. But she could work her ass off.

"What do you mean? Are your grades…bad?"

Brenda shrugged. "They're not good. I'm failing math."

Sara almost chocked on a slice of banana. Brenda just said the f-word. "Failing?" She tried not to seem so dramatic, but it was not something Sara could grasp easily.

"I can't do long division," Brenda told her, licking her spoon. "It's hard."

Sara's eyes widened. "What about your other subjects? Are they hard, too?"

"Well…science. And reading. That's hard." She wiped her mouth with a napkin, only managing to spread the chocolate over a greater area of her skin.

Sara smiled and shook her head. She dipped a clean napkin in her ice water and cleaned the ice cream off of Brenda's face. "I've got an idea. Why don't I pick you up some days after school and help you with your homework? Would you like that?"

Brenda looked at the ceiling as she considered it. "Could…we talk about planets, too?"

"You bet."

After dropping the little girl off, Sara wondered what she had gotten herself into. She just committed the spare time of a workaholic to a troubled child who didn't know long division. Sara spent the next night at work fearing the sunlight. She had looked up directions to Brenda's school and had already mapped out the route after calling the caseworker and double-checking to make sure it was alright, but for some reason she felt wholly unprepared. Right after work, she rushed to the supermarket to fill her bare cupboard. Kids liked snacks after school, she surmised. Sara began to wrack her brain, trying to remember what it was like to be a child, but then she thought against it. Her childhood wasn't exactly a template to draw from. She wheeled her cart through produce and picked up a bag of baby carrots, figuring that would be something healthy for Brenda to snack on while they worked on long division. She piled in juice, milk, eggs, and the rest of the essentials.

Dinner. Sara couldn't assume that she'd have Brenda back at the group home in time to eat, so she knew she had to feed the girl a meal. But kids were picky. She recalled Catherine complaining late one shift how Lindsey refused to eat chicken and turkey after a class trip to the farm. Sara settled on pasta. After filling her cart with two boxes of angel hair and the ingredients for tomato sauce, she ambled to frozen foods.

Ice cream. It was the one thing she was sure Brenda liked. Sara got all of the fixings for a sundae and smiled to herself as she watched the cashier ring up her purchases at the register.

Her apartment had been cleaned a day in advance. Instead of sleeping the day before, nerves kept Sara awake, scrubbing and dusting things that were already clean. When she got home, she unpacked her groceries, looked through her mail, and counted the minutes until school was out. She knew she should try to get some sleep, but she wasn't sure if she could. It was silly to be nervous, but nervous she was. Children were not her forte.

And yet…there was a pull. A pull to help. To be there.

After all, twenty years ago, she was in Brenda's shoes. Her mother killed her father. Tina Collins may have done so indirectly, but she was still a murderer. And Brenda's father, bastard that he was, was stabbed to death, much like Sara's father.

And Brenda was alone in the world, just as Sara had been. Just as she still was.

Suddenly, she felt very tired, very weary. Sara set her alarm for 1:30 and fell into bed. She dreamt of the night her life changed, but she wasn't a little girl anymore. She was Sara Sidle, CSI 3, in the doorway of her parent's bedroom. Grissom was standing over her father, examining the blood spatter on the wall.

_"Right in the jugular.__ That must've been the first cut," he said somberly._

_Detective Vartann came in and checked his watch. "We got the wife outside. She's rocking back and forth. Won't say shit."_

_Grissom shrugged. "Well, she's covered in blood." He turned back to look at the wall. "Where's the girl?"_

_Both men turned to look at Sara, who was straddling the bedroom and the hallway. She furrowed her eyebrows as Vartann walked toward her and gently took her elbow. "Let's get you out of here," he said quietly. She pulled away and noticed she was in a white, polyester nightgown with a pink lace edging. "Come on," he said trying to usher her out of the crime scene._

_Grissom glanced at her one more time, frowning sympathetically, before holding his camera up to the blood spatter and snapping a picture, the light of the flash blinding her._

Sara woke up in a cold sweat, panting heavily. She looked at the clock on her nightstand.

It was time to go to school.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was an altogether odd feeling waiting in her SUV, the air conditioner blaring, lined up along the curb with all of the other soccer moms. As kids began to file out of the school, Sara realized that Brenda might not recognize her car. The girl had only been in it one time before. Sara rushed out and onto the sidewalk, awkwardly clasping and unclasping her hands, feeling like a fraud. She spotted Brenda and waved. And then Brenda did something amazing.

She smiled.

It floored Sara for a moment, the ease with which Brenda reacted to her. The world-weariness was not completely gone from the little girl's face, but her smile was genuine, and it was for Sara.

As if she did it every day, Sara relieved Brenda of the heavy weight of her backpack and opened the passenger door. "Did you have a good day?"

Brenda nodded. "We got to watch the sixth graders practice their play."

Sara adjusted the rearview mirror and pulled out of her parking space. "What play?"

"Lewis and…Lewis…something…"

"Lewis and Clark?" Sara prompted.

"That's it," Brenda said. "It was kinda boring, but we got to miss class, so I liked that."

Sara chuckled and they drove to her apartment.

"Do you have a lot of homework?" she asked as they walked through her front door.

Brenda shrugged. "Some. I've got a math test on Friday."

"Long division?"

"Yeah." She paused a moment before adding tentatively, "Will you help me?"

Sara smiled. "You bet."

They worked steadily into the afternoon, snacking on carrots. When it became clear that Brenda hadn't yet mastered multiplication, Sara found some index cards and a magic marker and made some makeshift flashcards to quiz the girl on. Within an hour, Brenda had her times tables memorized and was on to division.

"It's just like multiplication, but instead of building things together, you're taking them apart," Sara explained.

Brenda looked a bit confused, so Sara went into her fridge and grabbed the grapes she had purchased in the morning, spreading them out on the table. "Okay, we have…two, four, six…" Sara muttered under her breath, counting the grapes as they rolled around in front of her. "Twenty…one," she said, plucking up one grape and handing it to Brenda. "You can eat that one. It was extra." The girl popped it into her mouth. "Okay, we have twenty-one grapes here. Divide them into three even piles."

Brenda furrowed her brows, still chewing on the grape, and separated the grapes into three groups of seven.

"Very good," Sara said, making sure to praise her, knowing that Brenda probably didn't get as much as she should. She knew she didn't when she was her age. "Now, how many grapes are in each group?"

"Seven."

"You got it."

This went on for another hour, with Brenda gradually working her way up to bigger numbers. Sara eagerly talked of quotients and divisors and remainders. She started on fractions when she realized the time.

"It's five thirty. Are you hungry?"

Brenda shrugged. "I guess."

Sara had to have her back at the group home by seven. "I think we've done enough math for today."

"Am I going back already?" Brenda asked quickly, her voice high and a little nervous.

"No…I was going to ask if you wanted to help me make some dinner," Sara said slowly.

"Oh," Brenda said. She bit her lip. "Yes."

Sara stood up from her chair. "Good."

They cleaned the books and papers off of the table and got to work in the kitchen. Sara let Brenda crush some garlic and use the electric can opener to open the tomatoes. She had Brenda wash the basil and pat it dry with a paper towel before tearing it to small pieces and adding it to the simmering sauce.

"Ooh, do your hands smell like basil now?"

Brenda sniffed them and giggled before holding them up to Sara's nose. "You smell like the sauce!" she laughed. Sara went back to stirring the pasta. "It's almost done. Do you want to set the table?"

Brenda seemed eager to help. Sara handed her the plates and utensils and she set them out, carefully folding the napkins and placing the forks and knives on top. "Did your mom teach you how to cook?"

Sara's eyes widened as she drained the pasta in the sink. "Uh…no. No, I didn't. I, uh…in college, I bought a cookbook and I learned that way."

"So your mom didn't teach you?" Brenda asked, adjusting a plate so that it lay in the middle of a place setting.

"No…no, she didn't."

They were both quiet as they put the food on the table. Sara had Brenda bring out the salad as she brought the bowl of hot spaghetti. She served them both and smiled softly as the little girl dug in.

"Do you like it?"

"Uh-huh," Brenda said, slurping up a noodle.

Sara laughed and handed her a napkin.

They made sundaes afterward, Brenda using entirely too much fudge and whipped cream and Sara not caring in the least. When it was time to go, Sara helped Brenda into her jacket and then tugged on her own. "I'm going to go to the bathroom," she said to the little girl. "I'll be out in a sec."

Brenda nodded and buttoned her jacket.

When Sara was done, she found her sitting at the desk, staring at the model wooden hand which contorted into a position not possible for anyone but the double-jointed.

"Brenda?" Sara whispered quietly, kneeling down to her level. "You like that hand?" she asked.

"Where did you get it?"

"Uh…my boss gave it to me, actually."

"It reminds me…it reminds me…"

Sara narrowed her eyes, concerned. "What does it remind you off?"

Brenda held up her right hand and tried to mimic the position. "My brother…when I found him, his hand was like this on the bed. Frozen. I thought he was sleeping but he wasn't."

Sara's eyes widened in shock. "I'll put the hand away, okay?"

She nodded and got up from the chair. "Let's go."

As they drove back to the group home, Sara began to doubt the whole endeavor. It seemed to be going well at first. She had helped Brenda with her math and they had fun cooking together. She wasn't nervous around the girl, which surprised her. But it all backfired in the end. She just inadvertently brought back a memory of a night best left forgotten.

When they arrived at the group home, Sara walked Brenda to the door, prepared to say goodbye forever.

"Will you pick me up from school tomorrow?"

Sara's jaw dropped for a split second before she sputtered out an answer. "S-sure. Sure."

Brenda smiled and Sara couldn't help but smile back.

She was ready and waiting for Brenda the next day, there to wave as she exited the building. They worked on her math homework with relative ease, Sara needing to correct only one or two mistakes. They finished her Social Studies assignment on Abraham Lincoln as they ate the rest of the grapes from the day before.

"Was he your favorite president?"

Sara nodded. "I think so."

"Me too."

Brenda pulled out a Xeroxed piece of paper from her schoolbag.

"What's this?" Sara asked, taking the paper from her hands.

"I have to do a project on a book," Brenda mumbled, her mouth full of grapes.

"What book?"

"I'm supposed to pick one from the list."

Sara scanned it, her eyes pausing at one novel. "_Little Women_! It's my favorite book," she explained when Brenda made a face.

"What's it about?" the girl asked, swept up in Sara's enthusiasm.

Sara began to go into the plot before stopping short. She got up out of her chair and walked to the bookcases on the far side of the room. She pulled out a large hardcover and presented it to Brenda.

"You tell me."

Brenda warily took the book from Sara's hands. "It's…long."

"It's a classic," Sara corrected. "Take it with you," she said, sitting back down. "You can read a chapter a day. Write notes on anything you find interesting." She grabbed a stack of Post-Its and handed them to the girl. "Use these."

Brenda looked a bit concerned, but ultimately up for the challenge.

"You can do it, kiddo," Sara said, laughing at the girl's worried face. "I promise."

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

There was a bounce in her step. It was undeniable. Sara walked through the lab hallways smiling more, her eyes bright, her attitude warm and welcoming.

"What are you _on_?" Hodges asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't make me do a tox screen."

"Get a life, David," she smiled sarcastically, giving herself a mental note to tone it down. The last thing she needed was questions. This…kid thing wasn't something Sara wanted public.

Grissom seemed to notice a change in her too. He was staring at her oddly, his head cocked to the side. Sara knew he was wondering what had happened, what made her go from an insubordinate, sobbing wreck to seemingly content CSI in a matter of months. She depended on him to be his usual distant self and not bother to ask.

"The cops found Shannon Carmichael's car at the airport," he told her in the middle of the shift. "It's in the garage. Do you want to start processing it now?"

"Uh…sure," she said, following him to Shannon's car. "Has it been broken into?"

"No," he told her, reaching for a pair of gloves and snapping them on.

"The airport, huh?" Sara said under her breath. "Did you check with the airlines? Maybe she was traveling to a job interview. There _was _a résumé in her purse."

"No plane, train, or bus ticket has been purchased by a Shannon Carmichael in the last month," he informed her. "We ran her credit cards. Nothing." He popped the trunk open and inspected the interior. "And why would she leave her bag at home if she were going somewhere?"

"Women have more than one bag," Sara reminded Grissom as she printed the steering wheel. He raised an eyebrow at her as she continued, "Her keys and wallet weren't in the one we found, and the car hasn't been hot-wired."

"You think she wanted to leave Las Vegas," he said, more statement than question.

"I'm saying I don't know," she told him matter-of-factly.

They worked quietly into the day shift. Sara wanted to rush home and shower before she picked Brenda up from school. She had a big math test that they studied for the day before, and Sara was eager to hear all about it. They were going to go to a movie as a treat for working so hard all week. Brenda seemed to appreciate everything that Sara was doing for her, which made it all the more gratifying. It also made her heart heavy at odd moments. Children were supposed to take some stuff for granted. They shouldn't have to be surprised whenever they were praised. Brenda was so receptive to all the good that Sara had done for her that Sara looked forward to a point where she could congratulate the girl on a job well done without seeing shock precede her smile.

It was pushing one o'clock when they finished gathering evidence from the car. Grissom stared at Sara as she wiped her sweaty brow.

"Hey, do you want to get something to eat? I'm starved."

Sara did her best to hide her surprise. He couldn't mean a date. They were both covered in sweat. Their coveralls were dirty. They were a mess. He was probably just checking up on her, making sure she wasn't going to kill herself or anything. "Uh…I'm really tired. I think I'll head home."

He pursed his lips. "Okay."

Sara gave him a tight-lipped smile and power walked out of the garage. She left the lab in record time and rushed home to wash the grime of a hard day's work off of her body. An IMAX movie about the rainforest was playing at the giant stadium theater at the mall and she had already purchased the tickets online along with a book on the subject that Brenda could read when they weren't together. Sara was determined to instill in Brenda the importance of education, of knowing things, of being curious about the world. She had been scared of too many things for too long. Both of them had.

As always, Brenda was ecstatic to see Sara as she rushed out of school. She was waving a white sheet of paper which she promptly handed to Sara. "We took the test in the morning and then Mrs. Banes graded it during lunch and I got a _ninety-eight_," the girl said breathlessly.

Sara's eyes widened. "You _did_? That's wonderful!"

Brenda was all smiles as they drove to the mall. Sara knew she should've been tired, but she wasn't. She was absolutely exhilarated. When they got to the theater, Sara marveled at the selection of condiments. She couldn't remember the last time she went to the movies. Armed with snacks, they found their seats and chatted about _Little Women _as they munched handfuls of popcorn.

"Who's your favorite?" Sara asked.

Brenda furrowed her brows in consideration. "I like Jo," she said at last.

"Why?"

"Because she reminds me of you," Brenda said simply.

The theater darkened and the giant screen lit up, illuminating the little girl's face. Sara could hear her pulse in her ears. It drowned out the narrator's voice as he droned on about the Amazon. She could feel a lone tear run down her cheek. It was crazy to cry. Insane. There was no reason to, no logical one, anyway. As she heard the little girl sigh contentedly, Sara brushed the tear from her cheek and paid attention to the film. Brenda would want to discuss every little detail once the movie ended. She wanted to be able to keep up.

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The weeks flew by. Every day, Sara would pick Brenda up from school and they'd go through the latest chapter of Sara's old, dog-eared copy of _Little Women_. It was packed with Post-Its that Brenda had scribbled on while in bed. They transcribed them into a spiral notebook, adding details along the way, clearing up any questions Brenda had about the plot or the characters.

It surprised Sara how visibly upset Brenda became when they covered the chapter where Amy threw her older sister's manuscript into the fire.

"It wasn't _hers_," Brenda stressed after Sara weakly tried to point out why Amy might've done that to Jo in the story.

She sighed. "You're right, kiddo. Amy shouldn't have done that. It wasn't her manuscript."

They began work on the diorama that was to go with the book report due at the end of the month. They were only three-quarters done with the book when Brenda decided she wanted to capture the scene where Jo danced with Laurie at the ball.

"And do you think you could maybe burn the back of Jo's dress just like in the book?" Brenda asked, excited.

Sara smiled. "Uh…I'll try. I've also got some black fingerprint powder somewhere around here. We could use that too," she suggested. "It might be…safer."

Brenda nodded happily as they affixed the ballroom floor to the base of the cardboard box that Sara's microwave came in. Her landlord had some extra parquet flooring that he cut down to size for the diorama. The shiny wood gleamed even in a darkened room. The curtains Jo had hid behind in the story were made from an old red velvet pillow Sara had lying around. It was all coming together. She smiled at their progress.

"You underlined this part," Brenda said one day as they went through their latest chapter.

Sara put down her cup of yogurt and looked at the page the girl was referring to. She saw the faint pencil mark that had been scribbled long ago.

"'_Wouldn't it be fun if all the castles in the air which we make could come true and we could live in them?_'" Brenda read aloud. "What does that mean?"

Sara shrugged. "It's about dreams, I guess. And how it would be nice if everything we dream could come true." She stirred her yogurt.

Brenda considered this for a long moment, then opened their _Little Women _notebook and wrote the quote down, word for word.

As Brenda read on, Sara remembered where she was when she underlined that sentence, what her castle in the air was when she was reading the book. She was barely seven when she found the copy that was currently in Brenda's hands. It was in a pile of books in her grandmother's attic. When the woman died, Sara's mother had sorted through everything, picking what to keep and what to sell. Most of it got sold, but Sara was able to sneak away a battered copy of Louisa May Alcot's classic. She had no idea why she zeroed in on that particular book out of the many that littered her grandmother's attic. At seven, she had no idea of its reputation. Sara supposed it was the cover that drew her to it: four girls grouped together, smiling and conversing happily. She wanted to be in on their secrets, to share her own with them. She wanted to tell them of her parents' fighting, of the latest doctor who bandaged her mom up. But instead she huddled under her covers with a flashlight and ignored the sound of raised voices and plates being smashed, focusing instead on the story of the March girls. She lived through their adventures. They were her family when her own wouldn't suffice. And for Sara, that was all too often.

While her home life had never been better, work for Sara was getting…odd. Shannon Carmichael had been missing for over a month and at the point where most would just close the case until new evidence surfaced, Grissom seemed more committed to solving it. She would help him every so often between other cases, just because he needed the company. On his off time, he'd stare at the case file. She would find him at his desk as shift ended every day, the missing person's report spread out, a copy of Shannon's résumé next to it.

"Why would she want to leave?" he asked one morning as she peeked her head in his office to say goodbye. "I can't figure it out."

Sara wasn't at all surprised by the question. He had been muttering it to himself since they got on the case. She sighed and took a seat across from him. "We don't know if she left. She might've been kidnapped. She could've been seeing some guy and things got ugly and he killed her. He would've had access to her car keys to drive her car to the airport. He could've cleaned up any evidence."

"Everyone we interviewed at work said they didn't know of any boyfriend in her life," Grissom argued.

"Maybe she didn't feel like sharing," Sara guessed. "Do you tell everyone at work when you're seeing someone?"

He pressed his lips together.

Sara shook her head. She meant no malice towards him. She was just trying to make a point. No one knew she spent her afternoons making tiny diorama versions of the characters in _Little Women_. There were just some things you didn't share with co-workers. Not because they were wrong, but because they were yours. "Grissom, what went on in her day to day life outside of work is a mystery."

"But her boss said --"

"Grissom, do you know everything that goes on in your employees' lives?" He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. "What's Bobby's daughter's name?"

"He has a daughter?"

"Kelsey. She's thirteen," Sara told him. "What is the one question that Nick hates to be asked on a date?" she quizzed.

"You don't know this firsthand, do you?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "I know this because he told me."

Grissom looked relieved. "What question does he hate to be asked?"

"What car he drives. That's the deal breaker."

"It's a legitimate question," Grissom said.

"That's what I told him," Sara sighed, getting up from her seat. "So now you know what not to ask Nick when he takes you out on a date."

Grissom made a face. "I already know what he drives."

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Brenda's half day at school had Sara nervously checking her watch as nightshift turned into day and their case was nowhere near to being solved. She and Grissom were paired up on a hit and run that was not so accidental. As the school year was winding to a close, gang recruitment was skyrocketing. Grissom marveled at the statistics.

"Everyone needs a summer hobby, I guess," Sara shrugged, not too impressed.

"I dissected things on my summer vacation," Grissom told her. "I didn't mow down teenagers as a rite of passage." She only sighed in response, hoping he wouldn't want her to pull a double. "What did you do on your summer vacations?" he asked, and then looked as if he wanted to take it back.

"I read books. I had a job when I got older," Sara said noncommittally. "I…read more books."

Grissom seemed to lose interest in the case for a second. "What did you do? Where did you work?"

"I lived in a beach community. Tourism was up during the summer," she explained, "and there was this big seafood restaurant on the shore called King's Crab. I worked there."

He pursed his lips. "Was the food good?"

"I guess." She thought back for a moment and smiled silently to herself.

Grissom leaned forward. "What?"

Sara shook her head. "Nothing. I just…they made these really good cheeseburgers for all of the tourist's kids who refused to eat fish. I was just thinking how I could really go for one now."

"But…you're a vegetarian," he protested.

She laughed. "I'm aware of that." Sara once again turned to the police report in her hands and resumed perusing it. She could feel his eyes on her, boring holes into the top of her head, but she just turned the page in the file and continued.

"What books did you read?"

She looked up, wide-eyed. "Excuse me?"

"You said you used to read over the summer," Grissom clarified. "What books did you read?"

"Um…I read whatever I could get my hands on. _Jaws_, _All the King's Men_, _The__ Sound and the Fury_…everything," she said.

"What's your favorite book?"

"Why?"

"Just curious," he told her, his eyes locked on hers.

"_Little Women_, I guess," Sara said, pressing her lips together.

"Why _Little Women_?" Grissom asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Because I liked it," Sara told him matter-of-factly. "What's your favorite book?" She didn't care about the answer at this point. She just wanted to turn the tables on him.

"I'm quite fond of _The Cat in the Hat_," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on."

"_Waiting for Godot_."

Sara raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

"Expecting _Hamlet_, maybe?"

"Something along those lines, yeah," she said, nodding. "I don't know what to make of that."

Grissom shrugged. "There's nothing to make of it."

Sara opened her mouth to say something, but the vibration on her hip had her pausing. She checked her pager. "It's Hodges."

"You go. The less I see of him, the better," Grissom grumbled. "He likes me…a little too much."

Sara chuckled on her way to Trace. She and Hodges certainly did share an affection for their boss. The lab tech motioned for her to come close as his eyes suspiciously surveyed their surroundings.

"What do you have for me, Hodges?"

"The powdery substance found on your vic is chlorine for pools. Standard. Used in every pool from here to Miami," he told her quickly. "But that's not why I paged you."

She stood up straight and narrowed her eyes. "Why did you page me?"

"I need a favor," he said, "but you have to promise to not tell anyone."

Intrigued and a little bit afraid, Sara considered his words for a moment. Curiosity beat out any perturbation. "I promise."

Hodges inhaled loudly. "My friends from college are in Vegas for some pharmaceutical seminar –"

"_You_ have friends?"

"—and we're supposed to go out to dinner tomorrow night and they're _kind of_ under the impression that I have a girlfriend."

Sara's jaw dropped as realization hit her. "No. Oh, no. _No_."

"Come _on_, Sara," he said in a high whisper, fearful that anyone would hear. "You don't understand. I was the cool one in our group. They looked up to me."

"You…were the _cool one_?" she asked, trying to suppress any laughter.

Hodges rolled his eyes. "It was MIT in the early eighties. If your glasses were less than half inch thick, you were considered cool," he barked.

"Why don't you ask Mia?" Sara suggested. "You like her."

"Will you lower your voice?" he begged. "I don't want Mia to know I'm this desperate."

"Trying to play it cool?"

He made a face. "Laugh all you want. Just _please_ do me this one favor. I'll never ask for anything again."

Sara eyed him. Dinner with Hodges and his most likely equally odd friends didn't seem so bad. It was the pretending to be his girlfriend part that made her apprehensive. Hodges on a date was not anything she ever wanted to experience. Still, she figured if she could help a fellow romantically challenged science nerd, she might as well.

"Alright," she sighed. "But nothing…physical. No kissing stuff."

Hodges looked as if she suggested he kiss his mother. "God, no!"

More relieved than insulted, Sara made plans for him to pick her up at her apartment the following evening so they could arrive together as a couple.

"And wear something that shows a bit of leg," he told her.

Sara narrowed her eyes and gave him a death glare reserved for child molesters and people who cut her off on the freeway.

"You know what," Hodges said, holding his hands up in submission, "you wear whatever you want."

She returned to Grissom and relayed the information about the chlorine.

"Is that all he told you? You were with him forever," Grissom noted.

Sara shrugged. "You know Hodges. He's…wordy."

She managed to finish work in time to pick Brenda up from her half day of school. They headed to the park, a change of pace for the pair. Sara thought it might be good for Brenda to interact with other children in setting that wasn't school or a group home, where the object was just to play. Unfortunately, the park by her house was empty but for a couple of toddlers and their moms. They ended up buying ice cream cones and eating them on the swings, moving back and forth ever so slightly as they nibbled on their cones.

Sara kept trying to steer the conversation to Brenda's classmates, asking what they were like and who she was friends with, but the girl only wanted to talk about her new favorite book. Sara couldn't fault her. She was the same at Brenda's age. People in her life came and went, but books were long lasting, were part of her forever, to be read and reread. And they never changed. They were predictable. Willy Wonka always gave Charlie his chocolate factory and Mr. Darcy always ended up falling in love with Elizabeth. You could depend on that.

You couldn't, however, depend on people. Sara had learned that early in life. As had Brenda.

They enjoyed the sun and the slight breeze as they discussed the love story between Jo and Professor Bhaer. "At first I didn't like him," Brenda confessed as she began to pick up a little speed on her swing. "I thought she should be with Laurie. They had fun together. The professor was boring and…old."

Sara lifted her legs up as she swung forward. "So why do you think Jo ended up falling in love with Bhaer?"

"Because they both liked learning," Brenda said succinctly.

"So…because they liked learning, they fell in love and got married?"

Brenda stopped her swing. "I was thinking about this, about why people get married. My teacher's daughter just got married and she showed us pictures of the wedding. All the girls in class started talking about what kind of wedding dress they'd wear and how many bridesmaids they'd have."

Sara cleared the lump in her throat. "And what were you thinking when you saw the pictures?"

"Not about wedding dresses," Brenda shrugged. "I don't really remember my mom and dad, but I don't think they were happy. Were your parents happy?"

"No," Sara said softly.

"Professor Bhaer and Jo talk about books and stories and they teach each other things."

"You think that's important?"

Brenda pumped her legs and went up in the air. "I want to be like Jo. I want to be smart and learn things and write stories and teach other people the stuff I learn."

Sara smiled as she watched the little girl swing in the air, her pale blonde hair almost white in the sunlight. To hear Brenda speak of the future brought a palpable sense of relief to Sara. Ambition and anticipation brought an eager gleam to Brenda's eye, as if she were not so afraid to face the next day anymore.

For that one shining moment, life, for Sara, was perfect.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sara started worrying when the children she recognized as Brenda's classmates began to exit the school sans Brenda, and by the time it was clear that the little girl was nowhere to be found, all-out panic consumed the CSI. She checked her watch; it was ten after three. If Brenda was still in the building, she would find her. After flashing some identification, a security guard directed Sara to the main office. There, she inquired after Brenda and, once her teacher was paged, found out that the girl had boarded the school bus.

"The bussed children board at 2:45," Mrs. Banes informed her. "I was surprised when Brenda went with them. I was getting used to releasing her at three with all of the children whose parents pick them up."

Sara just nodded her head, feeling immediate relief that Brenda was okay. That relief was soon followed by a strange curiosity. _Why did Brenda take the bus?_ Sara asked herself as she got into her car. _She knew I was going to be here to pick her up…_

Shaking her head, she drove in the direction of the group home. Brenda seemed happy during their last meeting. If anything, she had steadily grown happier the longer they knew each other. Sara thought that, in some way, she was doing something to help the little girl out, to make her feel special. As she sat in her car in front of the foster care facility, Sara began to wonder if she was monopolizing too much of Brenda's time. Every afternoon was spent together, reading or discussing something interesting, practicing math or planning next year's science experiment. It was possible Sara was pushing her too hard. Brenda had gone from 0 to 60 when it came to one-on-one adult involvement in her life, and perhaps it was asking too much of her to keep up with Sara's schedule.

While she completely understood that Brenda might still have some wariness when it came to adults, Sara couldn't help but feel a bit hurt. Though rejection was something she had learned to live with in life, this stung. Sara was determined to give Brenda her space if that was what she needed. But she'd still be there to pick her up from school tomorrow.

If there was one thing Sara knew, it was that Brenda needed someone in her life that would stick, someone who kept their promises no matter what. She deserved that.

Sighing, Sara drove back to her apartment, a little deflated.

She slept some, dreaming she was in Brenda's diorama that sat, almost finished, on her dining room table.

_The borrowed parquet shined under Sara's feet, and her shoes make clicking noises with every step. The paper couples in the back of the ballroom swayed to the tinny sound of the music box she and Brenda had dismantled and hooked up to play each time someone pulled a tassel on one of the red velvet curtains. She felt a heavy skirt sway around her legs and looked down; she was in a dress. Sara reached down in back of her, grabbing a handful of fabric where she knew the scorch mark would be. There was a residue of black print power where Brenda had dusted generously to replicate the burn on Jo's dress. She backed up towards the wall, watching the paper couples dance._

_Sara could see Nick and Warrick, far on the other side of the microwave box. They were dressed to the nines and grinned happily as they called out to her. She smiled and shook her head as she moved backwards and up against one of the curtains she and Brenda had sewn rather shoddily._

_A hand reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her from the ballroom into a dark, candlelit study._

_Sara stumbled and caught her footing quickly before looking up at the person attached to the hand that was still gripping her._

"_Grissom?"_

_He smiled at her and then opened his mouth. German words poured off his tongue, fast and with ease. Sara had always loved to listen to the sound of his voice, and there was something strangely comforting about hearing it contorted into sounds she had never heard before._

_He touched her cheek and continued to speak. It was not so different from their other conversations where Sara would grasp to find the meaning in his words. After a while, she just let herself enjoy the sounds coming from his mouth as they sat together. She could feel her eyes begin to close as she fell asleep in her own dream._

The alarm woke Sara up with a start. She rubbed her eyes and stumbled out of bed to the shower. She had to get ready for her 'date' with Hodges. Cursing at herself as the soap ran into her eyes, Sara wondered why on Earth she ever agreed to help the surly lab tech. It has been so long since she had actually been out that it irked her that David Hodges of all people would break her dateless streak.

She settled on a dark eggplant dress made of thin crepe wool with long sleeves and a scooped neck. It was Sara's attempt at classy, although she didn't think Hodges deserved it. She waited outside of her apartment complex for him to pull up. He was ten minutes late and in a hurry as Sara buckled her seatbelt.

"Come on, come on," he said to the car in front of them, honking his horn when they didn't accelerate the moment the traffic light turned green.

"Why so late?

"Three accidents! I passed three accidents on the way here," Hodges said testily. At the next light he reached back into the backseat and pulled out a folder.

Sara looked at it, confused. "What's this?"

"Our history."

She thumbed through it. "Are you joking?"

"They've gotta believe we're a couple," he explained.

"So…it's necessary I know about your pet iguana Miguel who died in 1993?" she asked skeptically.

"Miguel was very important to me," Hodges began before getting flustered and frustrated. "Would you just read it? It's not going to kill you."

Sara rolled her eyes and did her best to absorb the information. When they got to the restaurant, Hodges insisted on parking the car himself, not trusting the valet with his keys. "Have you seen _20/20_? Some of these valets are fakes! They take your house keys and then break in."

"Well, drop me off in front of the restaurant. I'm not walking from the parking space in these heels," she told him.

Hodges looked down at her feet. "Ooh…are you going to be taller than me in those? Because that might be a problem."

Sara narrowed her eyes.

"Or not."

She got out of the car and walked into the restaurant. The hostess immediately offered to seat her.

"The, uh, reservation is under David Hodges…I think."

The petite woman nodded and led Sara to a table. She waited there alone, a bit nervous. The night would require some acting on her part, and Sara didn't consider herself a good actress. She was too straightforward, too blunt. The evening was sure to be a disaster.

"Excuse me?"

Sara felt someone tap her shoulder and quickly turned around. Three men loomed over her.

"Are you Sara?"

She put on a smile and nodded, standing up to greet each man. They took their seats and grinned nervously at their friend's supposed girlfriend.

_In for a penny, in for pound_, Sara thought to herself, and then dived into conversation, attempting to make each man feel comfortable. She found herself surprised and how nice they were. Jared, Andy, and Wen were each chemists who found jobs for the same pharmaceutical company in New Jersey.

"So I guess you could say David is the rebel," Jared explained.

Sara tried not to laugh as she nodded. "Oh, he's certainly capable of some…things."

"Have you guys started without me?"

Hodges ambled up to the table and his friends got up to meet him, shaking his had and patting his back. It was odd to see him out of his element, appreciated on a personal level. She watched their interaction. Sara could see why Hodges labeled himself the "cool one." He was pitifully far from cool in her book – that title was reserved for bug loving, aloof middle-aged men – but he was definitely the cool one in this bunch. They reveled in old times as Sara sat back and enjoyed her pasta.

"Sara, where did you go to school?" Wen asked.

"Harvard and Berkley," she told them after swallowing a mouthful of fettuccini.

They seemed dutifully impressed. "David, you didn't tell us that," Andy scolded.

Hodges put a hand around Sara's shoulder, massaging gently. "Sara doesn't like it when I brag about her."

She moved slightly, shrugging off his hand. "Sara doesn't like a lot of things," she muttered softly so only he could hear.

The conversation, though she hated to admit it, was probably the most engaging she'd had in Las Vegas. Sure, perhaps the men were a bit too focused on the new _Star Wars_ movie, but they were pleasant, intelligent, and – more importantly – they thought she was the cat's meow, as Nick was known to say. It was an altogether new feeling to be the focus of attention. Over the years, Sara had gotten used to Catherine garnering all of the male stares at crime scenes. Sara probably got hit on more often by her co-workers, but she chalked it up to not being the intimidating one. It could make a girl feel rather unimpressive.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom and had to bite her lip to keep from cracking up at the hushed whispers coming from her table.

"She's gorgeous."

"Yeah, like Princess Leia."

They eventually said their goodbyes and Hodges drove her home. He turned to her as she moved to unbuckle her seatbelt.

"Thanks for doing this," he told her. "My friends think you're awesome, by the way."

Sara laughed. "You know, I think Mia would've had a good time. You should ask her out. Come on, I'll put in a good word for you."

He mulled over it. "I don't know. When I'm around her, I get all…nervous and goofy."

"You get all nervous and goofy around Grissom," Sara corrected. "You get creepy around Mia." His eyes widened. "Just…just be who you are with your friends," she advised him.

"We'll see," he sighed.

She opened her door and stepped out onto the pavement.

"Bye, Hodges," she smiled.

"Bye, Sara. You look beautiful, by the way. I think I forgot to tell you that," he told her through the open window.

She laughed. "Better late than never."

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

New A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys. I just got engaged to a Greek shipping heir. Hott. Plus, I'm not talking to my best friend. She knows why. Not hott. Take that, Nicole! My fiancé is hotter than yours!

Chapter 8

Her phone started to vibrate on the way to work. Sara quickly reached into her bag, which had been resting on the passenger seat of her car, and hunted for the buzzing cell. She was nervous, scared someone was calling with bad news about Brenda.

Sara sighed, relieved, when she heard Grissom's voice.

"I'm at Henderson. There was a break in the Carmichael case," he told her. After giving her directions to meet him at a convenience store, Grissom hung up with nary a goodbye. Sara threw her phone back in her bag and frowned as she got back on the highway. Her boss had put in more man hours on Shannon Carmichael than he had on his last three cases combined, and it was all for naught so far. Once a person goes missing, time is an investigator's foe, not friend. On a hit and run or a murder, evidence is less time sensitive. It's more or less there in front of you to decipher and solve, and with time usually comes clarity. But with a missing person, the key evidence – that person – is absent. All there is to study is circumstantial and as the case goes on, the picture gets more murky than clear. A missing person case defines entropy: the inevitable and steady deterioration of a system. The Shannon Carmichael case was headed towards chaos and taking Gil Grissom along with it. Sara was worried. He had his issues with certain cases in the past, but they usually didn't persist. She was sure if Catherine were still working on nightshift, she would have confronted Grissom on this. She would've knocked some sense into him in her brassy, no-nonsense way, like a cool big sister giving her nerdy brother some pointers.

Sara knew she couldn't placate Grissom's obsession with this case any longer. Staying with him a couple of hours after shift a few days a week to stare blankly at the possessions in Shannon's purse or read through her personnel file for the umpteenth time wasn't getting anybody anywhere. He was just as deeply entrenched in the case, asking himself over and over again Shannon's motivation, as if the picture on her passport would smile at him and say in a conversational tone, "Gil, here's what happened…"

She had to say something. After the so-called break in the case led to a dead end – and Sara was almost sure it would – she'd gently address his commitment, for lack of a better word, to this missing person, to this case. Sara could appreciate fervor and dedication when it came to being a CSI. She had crossed the line into unhealthy obsession more than once and Grissom was there to pull her in, to make sure she was okay. He deserved the same, and though the status of their relationship was very delicate, she couldn't forsake the friendship they once had.

Grissom's SUV was parked at the convenience store. Crime scene tape surrounded the entrance. Sara ducked under it and entered the store to find her boss dusting the counter by the register while a very angry looking Vietnamese man stood watching with his arms crossed over his chest.

"If I had known you shut my store down, I no call you!"

Sara's eyes widened as she saw Grissom pay the man no heed.

"Ah, sorry ma'am," the owner told her loudly, "Mistah Police Know-It-All says no customer until he finish dusting my counter with midget duster."

Sara held up her identification.

The owner threw up his hands. "Oh, Mrs. Police Know-It-All! Who next? Baby? Why not bring rest of family to watch you dust my counter. I save nice seat for Grandma. I already gave you video tape!" he exclaimed to Grissom.

"And the surveillance tape showed the back of a woman's head as she bought some Cookies 'n Cream ice cream," Grissom said evenly, not bothering to look at the frazzled man as he began lifting prints.

The store owner groaned as he stalked off to a back room. "I only call because of reward money," he grumbled.

Sara crouched down next to Grissom. "If all the surveillance tape showed was the back of some woman's head as she bought ice cream, why are you bothering to lift prints at all?" she asked. "The owner is obviously after the reward money Shannon's boss offered for her safe return."

"It's the Cookies 'n Cream."

"Hmm?"

"Cookies 'n Cream," Grissom repeated. "The woman on the tape was buying Cookies 'n Cream ice cream, the same flavor and same brand that we found stocked in Shannon's refrigerator."

Sara sighed, a tad bit exasperated. "Grissom, it's not that out there an ice cream flavor." She straightened her body, her eyes scanning the display of ice cream. "They only stock that brand here, anyway."

He seemed to ignore Sara's observation and instead asked her to question Mr. Diep, the store owner. "I don't think he likes me."

"How'd you guess, Mistah Police Know-It-All?" Sara mumbled under her breath as she knocked on the door that led to what she would generously call a break room. "Mr. Diep? Can I ask you a few questions about the woman on the tape?"

"Bearded man already ask questions!"

"I know. Bearded man likes to be thorough," she sighed. "How was the woman acting when she was in your store?"

"I don't know. Normal," he answered, shrugging.

"Was anyone with her?"

"She alone."

Sara crossed her arms. "Were there any other customers in your store at the time?"

"Ah, some old lady. She buy cat food every week. Has eleven cats. I allergic," Mr. Diep said.

"Did…you talk to the woman on the tape? Did she tell you anything about herself?" Sara asked.

"Lady, I married. I no chat up customers," he informed her. "If they talk, I answer. But I no bother people who don't wanna be bothered."

Sara raised her brows. "Did this woman not want to be bothered?"

"How should I know?" Mr. Diep asked. "We twenty minutes from Vegas, lady. Nobody from Vegas wanna be bothered."

Grissom knocked on the door softly to get Sara's attention. "You done?" he asked when she turned her head.

"We done! Can I open store now? Maybe Jimmy Hoffa come in and wanna buy donut."

Grissom nodded and both he and Sara walked to the parking lot. She decided now was the time to reel Grissom in from the land of the Crazy Obsessed CSI. As he loaded his kit in the trunk, Sara cleared her throat.

"We're going to be doing a lot of this, Grissom."

"A lot of what?" he asked as he closed the trunk.

"Chasing dead ends," she clarified. "Everyone's out for that reward money. Fifty thousand dollars is going to bring out all of the crazies. Mr. Diep is tame compared to what we'll probably see. Don't…just don't get your hopes up."

Grissom narrowed his eyes. "Sara, I am a scientist. I don't put my hopes into cases. I just follow the evidence and solve them."

She fought hard not to roll her eyes. "That's not true. You've been spending way too much time on this case—"

"Has it affected my work on other cases?" he asked, interrupting her, his eyes steely locked on hers.

"No," she admitted.

"Then there is no problem."

"You know that there is," Sara said, shaking her head. "You've been chasing a ghost for more than a month and now that Ned Myers is offering a reward, there are just going to be that many more ghosts for you to chase."

"Shannon isn't dead."

"That we know of," she reminded him. "But you know how this works, Grissom. After the third or fourth day, you have to change the way you operate when you work a missing person case. You can't let it get to you so much."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I find this strange advice coming from you."

It was like a slap in the face, an accusation. Sara knew she had let cases get the better of her in the past, had let them run her ragged. She knew she got emotional more than most. But she was only trying to save him from that pain, the utter agony of impotence when you realize that there's nothing in your power to fix what has been done.

And, having been there, Sara also knew that there was nothing that could be done to save anyone from that aching despair. When a case grips you tight and won't let go, the best you can hope to have is someone there to hold your hand.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "I didn't mean to be insensitive. We'll…check out every lead that comes."

Grissom seemed to not believe her – not her claim to help him, but the ease with which she got over his callous insult. Sara could tell he had expected to be the one to apologize.

"Let's go…process those prints," she said, hoping to break the tension. He nodded as she added, "Did you print the door to the ice cream freezer?"

He smiled tentatively. "That's the first place I got."

Jaqui was none too happy at the bevy of prints the CSIs had thrust upon her. "Why don't you just give me all of the pennies in the Bellagio fountain? We'll see if we get a hit off of those," she told them sarcastically as they left the print lab for the layout room Grissom had reserved for the Shannon Carmichael case.

Sara opened her file up to the copy of the reward poster that was now scattered throughout Nevada. "What do you make of the boss for this?"

"He's offering fifty thousand dollars of his own money for Shannon's safe return," Grissom said, defending Ned Myers.

"Maybe he knows that won't happen," Sara suggested. "Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. He's her boss, not her boyfriend." She studied the reward poster. "We have to wonder if that's normal behavior in this type of situation. How many missing person cases have you worked?" she asked when he looked like he was going to argue her point.

"Over a hundred."

"And how many times were rewards offered for the safe return of the missing person?"

"If no body was found…in almost all of them, a reward was offered," Grissom told her.

Sara tilted her head. "And how many of them were offered by the boss of the missing person?"

"None," he conceded. "That doesn't mean the boss did anything. Shannon had no family to offer a reward."

"It doesn't mean he didn't do anything."

"Maybe he loved her. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he just wanted her back," Grissom sighed. "But if the reward money he's putting up is making people aware enough to look for Shannon, to keep their eyes open for her – even if only for the money – then I can't fault his actions."

"Would you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Put up fifty thousand dollars for the safe return of an employee?" Sara asked.

"I…it depends," Grissom said, fidgeting.

"Depends on what?" she pressed.

"Well, I don't know…if Greg went missing, I'd do everything in my power to find him, but I'm not sure how his parents would feel if I offered to pay for a reward."

She was almost afraid to ask. Almost. "And…if I went missing?"

Grissom's face went pale for a split second, but he kept his eyes on Sara. "I'd pay it."

"Because I don't have any family, right? No one to offer a reward for my safe return…" Sara's voice faded as Jaqui poked her head through the door.

"The results have started to come in on your prints. No missing girl yet, but I found the thumbprint of a teenager wanted for arson and a deadbeat dad who's in the system for not paying child support," she informed them.

Sara nodded. "Thanks Jaqui," she said, her voice broken. She looked at Grissom. "I guess it's back to the drawing board."

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: RE: my last author's note…I read a lot of US Weekly and have a bad sense of humor.

Chapter 9

Sara sat in her car outside of Brenda's school. It was five to three and the peaceful grounds would soon be overflowing with kids. She kept an eagle eye out for Brenda's class. Though Sara's mind had been on Grissom as she left work that morning, it was now focused solely on the little girl who she had not seen for more than twenty-four hours. The school doors opened and the kindergartners spilled out, waving to their parents who eagerly greeted them. Children filled the schoolyard but Sara kept her eyes trained on the door. The tall red-headed boy she knew to be one of Brenda's classmates ambled out of the double doors, followed by the rest of the fourth graders.

But there was no sign of Brenda.

This time, Sara didn't wait around. She pulled out of her parking space and raced to the group home. Brenda had always been eager to see her, always excited to discuss the day's events and work on her _Little Women_ diorama. Something wasn't right.

Sara managed to beat the bus to the group home. She parked and then got out to wait for Brenda. The bus pulled up several minutes later, depositing the little girl on the sidewalk. Brenda exited the door looking very solemn, her head down, eyes on her shoes. The bus drove off, leaving her in a cloud of exhaust that she didn't bother trying to avoid.

"Brenda?"

The girl's head snapped up and her eyes locked on Sara. Sara took a step closer but stopped in her tracks when she saw Brenda's face contort into a painful grimace as she began to quietly sob. The normally pale skin of her cheeks was red and tear-stained as she broke down on the sidewalk. Sara rushed to her side, kneeling in front of Brenda and placing her hands on her shoulders as the girl covered her face.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked, nervous and scared.

Brenda shook her head, her face still covered by her hands, as she continued to weep.

Sara picked the child up and held her close. She had never hugged her before, had purposely steered clear of any real physical contact because she was aware of Brenda's history and how even a hug could make her uncomfortable. But this time, Sara acted before thinking, and had gathered the girl up on the sidewalk, holding her close as she cried into her shoulder.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Sara asked, her voice betraying her and exposing raw emotion. Her eyes welled up with tears. She was genuinely afraid for Brenda as her mind began to spin scenarios off all that could have gone wrong. Brenda had already been through the worst in her young life. Sara fearfully wondered what could possibly make this strong little girl break down.

"They took it," she whispered, her voice muffled by Sara's shoulder.

"Took what?" Sara asked, anxious.

"I'm sorry," Brenda wailed.

"Sorry for what?"

"The book," she sobbed.

"_Little Women_?"

Sara could feel Brenda nod her head against her shoulder. "Someone took it," Brenda sniffled. "I kept it under my pillow when I slept, but someone took it."

Relief began to flood Sara's body. Her stomach loosened and she managed to exhale. "That's it? Someone took your book?"

"Your book," Brenda corrected, a second wave of tears beginning to overtake her small body.

Sara sighed. "Brenda, I gave it to you. We can go get you a new one right now. A nice one, without any writing in the margins." The girl continued to cry. "Shhh," she soothed, "it's okay. We'll go to the bookstore right now."

Brenda shook her head and continued to apologize.

Sara called her name until she picked her head up from Sara's wet shoulder and they were face to face. "Do you think I'm mad at you because someone took the book?" Brenda only stared at her, afraid to answer. "Baby, first of all, I gave you the book. It's your book," Sara insisted. "Second of all, someone took it from you. You didn't do anything wrong. I know how much you loved it." She wiped Brenda's wet cheek with her hand. "That book sat on a shelf for years before you came along to read it. And I'm so glad you did because I have never enjoyed _Little Women_ as much as when I read it with you. Never ever," she vowed.

Brenda looked surprised, but Sara only continued. "I was so worried when you weren't at school yesterday afternoon."

"I'm sorry," Brenda began, burying her face in Sara's shoulder once more, but Sara quickly interrupted.

"Don't be sorry, baby," she assured her, kissing the top of her head. "I'm not going to get mad. Look at me, Brenda." After a silent moment, Brenda lifted her head. "I know," Sara began, "that you are a little girl with a good heart. So whatever happens -- if you lose the next ten copies of _Little Women_ that we buy or if you get a bad grade on a test or if you forget to say please and thank you -- I still love you very much, okay?"

_Love?__ Where did that come from?_ Sara asked herself, wide-eyed, as Brenda nodded. She wiped the girl's wet cheek with her sleeve and swallowed hard. After quietly getting Brenda settled in the backseat of the SUV, Sara sat behind the steering wheel and adjusted the rearview mirror, holding it steady so she met her own reflection. A line had been crossed. She had spewed out something she didn't realize to be true until the words sunk in. She loved Brenda. She loved her in a world where she wasn't sure she loved anything. Sara Sidle's life was a sad story, a collection of disappointments briefly dotted with moments of hopefulness that were ultimately crushed by inevitability. Still, she loved that little kid.

Sara turned her head to look at Brenda. "You feel up for a trip to the bookstore?"

The little girl began to wipe her nose on her sleeve. Sara reached into the glove compartment and pulled out some spare napkins, handing one to Brenda. Her eyes were a bit puffy from crying, but not sad anymore. She noisily blew her nose while she nodded her head. "Yeah."

The drive to _Barnes & Noble_ was short, and as they walked from the parking lot to the store, Sara felt Brenda's hand slip into her own. She had done this a couple of times before, but this was the first time Sara was keenly aware of it. She held on as they entered the air-conditioned space. It smelled of coffee beans and cinnamon buns, and she could hear Brenda inhale the scents.

Three editions of Little Women sat on the Fiction bookshelves. Sara let go of Brenda's hand to pile one of each into her arms. "Just in case," she said, smiling at the little girl whose eyebrows were raised.

They paid for the books and then stopped off at the little café at the front of the store. Sara was eager to keep Brenda in public and out of her apartment where she knew what she had said in front of the group home would need to be addressed. Brenda sipped her hot chocolate with whipped cream and nibbled on a cookie the size of her face while Sara stirred a packet of sugar into her coffee.

"You should pick one to take with you, and the other two we can keep at my apartment as backup," Sara suggested.

Brenda shook her head. "I don't want to lose any of them. You should keep all of them. Someone might take the book if it was with me."

Exasperated, Sara sighed. "That's why we have three of them." When Brenda said nothing, Sara reached across the small table to grab her hand. "If someone takes it again, I won't get mad, Brenda. I won't."

The girl bit her lip and then reached into the shopping bag, pulling out the paperback copy, the cheapest one of the three. "I'll take this one."

Sara frowned. There was a lovely, leather-bound edition and a standard issue hardcover to choose from.

As if she knew what Sara was about to say, Brenda shrugged and mumbled, "I can't have nice things."

Sara closed her mouth. She had lived alone for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to be in Brenda's place. Nice things were a liability. Sure, not every foster home housed little thieves that pilfered your prized possessions. Some even gave out toys for birthdays and holidays. But eventually you'd find your way to a home where everything special you acquired became the property of some other kid. Sara had learned quickly that it was easiest to pack light, to not become attached to anything so she wouldn't miss it when it was gone. And it usually was. She was surprised her old copy of _Little Women_ had managed to remain in her hands for more than twenty-five years. Then again, she was in foster care during the mid-eighties, the me decade, when everyone was after hundred dollar sneakers and designer ripped jeans. Her precious book wasn't worth the paper it was printed on in the eyes of her foster brothers and sisters, and for that, Sara was thankful. It had sustained her through the years she had suffered alone.

_And now_, she thought to herself, _Brenda will have a copy of the book to sustain…_

Sara felt the bile rise in her throat. She couldn't finish her thought. As Brenda lifted the mug to her lips, getting whipped cream on her nose in the process, Sara could feel her breathing begin to shallow out. She didn't want the little girl -- who was now so oblivious that the tip of her nose was covered in cream -- to have to rely on a book to get through the hard times she would no doubt encounter as she braved life alone.

"Do you want some of my cookie?"

Sara blinked and stared at Brenda, who had broken off a large chunk of her cookie and was holding it out for Sara. She took it from the little girl's hands numbly, and bit into it, feigning enjoyment as a thunderstorm of thoughts echoed in her head. So much of Sara's focus on Brenda had been in relation to her past – and how similar it was to her own. As the little girl took another sip of her cocoa – and got another nose full of whipped cream – Sara Sidle made a solemn vow they would not share the same future.

She had to do…something.

TBC…


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sara reached into her bag for her keys with one hand while she balanced a sleeping Brenda on her hip. The little girl had fallen asleep on the car ride home. It was only about five o'clock in the evening, but she had passed out the moment they hit the highway. Sara knew tears could tire a person more than hours and hours of work. After she had sobbingly related her past to Grissom months before, Sara had slept for eleven hours straight. She remembered how he reached for his handkerchief from his pocket, never letting go of her hand. He had stayed with her until her tears subsided, and then, as if he sensed her need to be alone, left quietly, reminding her to call if she needed anything. Sara couldn't recall if she had thanked Grissom for being there for her. All she could remember was his attempt at smiling as he stood up and wiped her wet cheek with the back of his hand. She had clutched the handkerchief in her fingers as she watched him disappear through her front door, turning back to meet her eyes before ducking out.

Grissom had been everything she needed that day, Sara thought to herself with a sigh as she lay Brenda down on the couch, covering her with throw. He had sat there, on the spot where Brenda was now sleeping soundly, and listened. And when he had left, she had trudged to her room -- not bothering to toss her empties in the garbage -- to fall, fully-clothed, into bed, the strain of tears finally released hitting her.

She watched Brenda inhale and exhale peacefully. There were no signs of sadness in her countenance now. Sara briefly wondered if it was the same for herself, if her worries and troubles melted from her face during sleep, leaving her seemingly content. It would be a first.

Sara shook her head clear of those thoughts. She couldn't focus on herself. Brenda was there and she was in trouble. It had shaken Sara to the core to see the little girl cry, the little girl who had seemed so utterly unflappable in the face of tragedy, who hadn't shed a tear after witnessing the murder of her family. Yet the thought of disappointing Sara had brought Brenda to her knees with grief. It was if she was in mourning for the stolen book. She reacted to the theft the way some people reacted to death of a loved one. It hurt Sara's heart to think of Brenda so lonely that a third-hand book was a loved one for the little girl. And it stung to realize it had been the same for herself all those years ago. Sara had spent years masking the hurt, years convincing herself that she was a loner by nature.

But she wasn't.

She loved. And perhaps the people she loved were as damaged as she, but that didn't make the love worth any less.

In her address book was the phone number of Brenda's caseworker. Without a plan, Sara grabbed her phone and dialed, holding it to her ear as she scurried into her bedroom so as not to wake Brenda. In one long breath Sara explained the stolen book and Brenda's reaction while the caseworker, Beth Reynolds, listened quietly.

"Miss Sidle?" Beth asked once she was sure Sara had finished.

"Yes?"

"Is this the reason you called? A lost copy of _Little Women_? I don't mean to sound callous, but what do you want me to do?" Beth asked.

Sara was flustered. "I…don't know. She obviously can't stay there."

"We don't move children for these reasons," Beth explained. "Has Brenda reported any other problems?"

"No," Sara told her. "But…isn't there somewhere else where she'd be more happy?"

"Miss Sidle," Beth sighed, "you know how the system works. It's not like the hotels on the Strip. We can't move her if one group home doesn't have the amenities she's looking for."

Sara massaged her temple. She knew all of this. She knew it firsthand from living it; she knew it secondhand from working it. And yet it was as if all of the injustices of the system were hitting her at that very moment and every frustration was getting a voice. "Something has to be done," she said. "It can't stay like this."

"Unless Brenda gets adopted, it will."

"And that won't happen, right?" Sara said bleakly.

"You know the statistics. People want babies. Brenda is almost ten, the child of incest, and has suffered abuse and extreme emotional trauma," Beth reminded her sadly. "I could try to place her in a foster home again if something else happens, but she hasn't responded well with individual families. I was quite shocked to hear she was so happy spending time with you. She hasn't been the most interactive of children in the years I've known her."

"It just takes time…to get to know her," Sara answered. She hadn't been the most interactive of children, either.

"Not everyone has the time, Miss Sidle."

"I do."

"Excuse me?" Beth asked.

"I…I…want to try." _Shit, shit, what am I saying? _"I can-I can take her." The words were being yanked from her throat, as if a cowboy had lassoed them on her tongue and pulled them through her lips without her consent. "What's the process? I-I mean, how do I, uh…go…about…_adopting _Brenda?"

"Well," Beth began, rattling off the steps of adopting a foster child in the state of Nevada. Sara could tell the harried older women on the line was genuinely eager for Brenda to find a happy home, and it more than shocked the CSI that this seasoned caseworker who had no doubt seen it all believed that a thirty-three year old workaholic was the right one to provide it. "There is an initial assessment," Beth explained, "and of course a background check. But you work for the city, so that won't be a problem."

Sara's eyes widened as a cold, hard brick from her past came crushing down on her.

"I almost got a DUI over a year ago," she confessed quickly.

"Almost?"

"I was let off with a warning. I wasn't charged." Beth said nothing and Sara quickly added, "I haven't had anything to drink since I started mentoring Brenda. I promise. No alcohol. At all."

"Miss Sidle, I appreciate your honestly. This didn't come up when you were being approved for our mentoring problem, so I don't think it will be an issue here seeing as it isn't on record, although any future DUI during the assessment period will factor into our decision," Beth explained.

Sara felt her muscles loosen as she exhaled. "Okay. Okay."

"After a prospective parent is approved, they usually begin finding the right match -- a child they are compatible with. We can skip that step with you."

Though Beth couldn't see it, Sara nodded firmly. "Yep."

"The child moves in and you are once again assessed to make sure everything is going smoothly."

Sara waited a beat before asking, "And that's it?"

"Apart from a few papers to sign and lawyers to pay…yeah," Beth answered.

"How do I get started?"

Sara listened to the caseworker talk and was filled with dueling senses of eagerness and trepidation. After setting up a meeting with Beth, she hung up the phone, scared and elated. Brenda was still asleep on the couch, her face still content.

Sara hoped she could one day provide Brenda with waking contentment.

And maybe then she'd find her own.

TBC…

A/N: I couldn't find information on the process of adopting a foster child in Nevada, save for the fact that single people could adopt. As for the steps in adoption, I cribbed them from North Carolina.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

After driving Brenda to the group home, Sara raced back to her apartment and downloaded the assessment application form from the internet. She printed it out and stared at the sheets: seemingly simple pieces of paper that were in fact the gateway to parenthood, a road Sara swore she'd never go down. She knew a lot of people didn't have children for different reasons. Many, she supposed, just didn't want the responsibility. Others, she assumed, felt they had nothing in common with children and preferred the company of adults. Neither reason applied to Sara. She had solidified her stance the summer she turned six. Her mother had spent two weeks in the hospital, healing from a broken jaw and other various injuries. That was nothing new for a young Sara. It was her way of life, and she read a book while her apologetic father tended to her mother in the small hospital room. He would promise to never hurt her, and her mother would believe him, but on the car ride home from the hospital, they'd start up again, bickering the moment her father turned the key in the ignition. Her mother would swat at him at red lights and he'd threaten to crash the car and kill them all. While none of this alarmed the little girl in the back seat, she nonetheless vowed never to have children then and there after asking her mother what kind of cake she was planning to make when they got home.

"Cake?" she asked, pausing her verbal assault on her spouse to glance at her daughter in the backseat.

"Vanilla or chocolate?"

"I'm not making a cake. I can't chew a fucking thing," Laura Sidle spat out.

"Oh, and I suppose that's my fault?" Tim Sidle would growl, launching them back into a ten round battle that would end with both of them passed out and drunk in the living room on the sixth anniversary of their daughter's birth. It was there that Sara Caroline Sidle decided to never have a child of her own. She never wanted someone to disappoint.

It wasn't easy to turn back on her word. But Brenda had hugged her so tight, and had cried so hard, that Sara knew she had to try.

She grabbed a pen from the desk drawer and began to carefully print her name and social security number. Sara paused her pen at the address line and looked around her apartment. It was small -- one bedroom -- with no place for Brenda to sleep. She knew the setup was quite nice for someone living alone, and was comfortable enough for her, but there wasn't much room for a child to live there full time. She'd need a bigger place. _No_, she thought to herself. _Scratch that._

__

We'll need a bigger place.

Years of living like a poor college student and investing like an old Wall Street pro had paid off handsomely for the CSI. After leaving foster care at sixteen to enter Harvard on a scholarship, Sara continued to take jobs wherever she could, spending summers as an assistant in labs during the day after early morning summer classes, followed by a waitress gig at one of the tourist spots. She'd eat free food during her break so as not to spend any of her hard-earned cash on groceries, instead putting the money into some carefully chosen stocks that had soared during the late-nineties bull market. Sara remembered scanning the _Wall Street Journal _in the school's library right before the end of her junior year, secretly cheering her decision to take a chance on a tech stock that was announcing a deal with Microsoft. It was there her British Literature professor, Kevin Adams, slid into the seat across from her and asked her what had put the smile on her face. She knew she probably blushed. He was the youngest teacher on staff -- about thirty-seven, but he looked years younger with his playful grin and sparkling blue eyes. His female students swooned over him and Sara knew Professor Adams had taken a liking to her not only because she was pulling a solid A in Brit Lit, but because she didn't openly drool in class. She had shook her head and closed the paper.

"It's nothing. Just a possible merger."

He laughed. "The sun is shining. It's a beautiful day. You think too much, Sara Sidle." He began to ask her about her plans for the summer, but when she mentioned classes, he immediately cut her off. "Sara, you have to travel! Have fun! Go to Europe or Asia. See the things you read about."

Nothing could have been farther from Sara's plans. It wasn't that she didn't want to see the world and she had earned enough money to travel quite comfortably, but that money was for survival, not for enjoyment. She had lied and assured her professor that she was planning a trip after senior year so she could spend time abroad and not have to rush to get back to class.

He seemed genuinely excited for her and told her to stop by his office so he could give her information he had gathered from his own travels. Sara's heart beat a little faster as he smiled at her. No, she was not immune to feeling, but she managed to hide it well.

She never did take that trip but instead had hoarded her money. There was more than enough in her savings for a nice house, one with room enough for Brenda to have her own space, something she sorely lacked in the group home. And then maybe they could take a trip together. But first, a house.

Putting down her pen, Sara logged back onto the internet and began to research the Las Vegas real estate market. She jotted down the names and numbers of some agents as she perused different houses for sale. She found herself veering away from the more traditional fare. Brenda's previous residence was what one would call a typical American house. Sara shut her eyes and pictured it as it had been when she drove up to assist Grissom on the case five years ago. The large front yard was dotted with clay rabbits that welcomed visitors to the Collins' home, its peaceful outside hiding the vicious secrets that lay therein.

Sara narrowed her focus to more abstract homes that were less _Leave it to Beaver _and more meet George Jetson. Brenda needed a fresh start and that meant living in a place that wasn't a replica of her former house of horrors. She found one that looked like the illegitimate love child of Frank Lloyd Wright and Salvador Dali, a mix of clean lines and surrealist bravado on a few acres of land not too far north of the heart of the city. Sara called the real estate agent and scheduled an appointment to see the property the following Monday. She continued searching, finding houses of interest and calling up for more information, sometimes making appointments for a closer look and sometimes deciding against going any further. She felt pumped. Having a purpose always gave Sara an adrenaline rush, and this seemed to be just about the biggest purpose of all. She was finding a home for Brenda. It would have to be perfect.

After entering her meetings with the real estate agents into her date book, Sara focused on the application once more. Under home address was occupation, and she cringed. Though Sara's night shift schedule didn't get in the way of her time with Brenda now, it would be a problem in the future. As Brenda's mentor, she was able to spend quality time with her after school and on the weekends without worrying -- not too much, anyway -- about how the little girl was spending her nights while she was at work. But as a single parent working the night shift, Sara would be there to pick Brenda up from school, but would have to leave for work late at night. She supposed she could get a nanny. Catherine managed to work nights for years and raise a daughter. Then again, Catherine had a support system of family to leave Lindsey with while she worked.

Sara had nobody.

She knew what she had to do. It made her nauseous to even think it, but there was only one way to solve this problem: she'd have to move to the dayshift.

If Sara worked the standard dayshift hours from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon, she'd be able to be in the lab while Brenda was in class, and then spend time with her after school without having to leave for work late at night. They'd be…normal. Or at least relatively so.

While a part of Sara was extremely eager that her plans were starting to gel in her mind, another part was mourning the end of an era. Leaving nightshift meant leaving Grissom. The morning and night crews often saw each other in the hallways during the shift switch at eight AM, and occasionally even worked together, but Sara would no longer be with Grissom, would no longer have the excuse of working extra hours just to be near him.

Though their relationship was a rollercoaster of ups and downs over the years, she had always been on his team. When times between them got rough, Sara had taken solace in that. Grissom had brought her to Vegas. He wanted her with him. He trusted her. And when he wasn't talking to her, she'd remind herself of how he could have had his pick of any CSI, but he chose her. It wasn't much, but when you had nothing at all, it was something.

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sara spent the following week rushing to view houses with her real estate agent after her shift and helping Brenda put the finishing touches on the diorama. She sat with her laptop at the kitchen table, perusing the digital photos she took of the houses while Brenda worked on the cover art to her book report on _Little Women_. The little girl had written her report in the spiral notebook dedicated to their project and Sara had typed it out for her while secretly telling herself she'd get Brenda her own computer if the adoption came through.

The selection of houses had been winnowed down to three -- all not too far from Sara's work and Brenda's school. One was a sprawling ranch-type house with funky, exotic plants and flowers covering the grounds and a stable for horses. Though the CSI had no plans of buying a pony anytime soon, she figured a dog might be in their future. Another choice was a replica Victorian house that seemed to have sprung from the pages of a picture book. It reminded Sara of a gingerbread house. She almost expected to see Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs leading to the entrance. The third one was all glass and wood surrounded by so many trees it was easy to forget you were in Las Vegas. The screened-in, heated pool sat waiting for Brenda to cannonball into it and Sara could picture the two of them in the built-in library discussing the books on the little girl's summer reading list. She could feel her lips curl into a smile as she stared at the screen. That was their house.

"What are you looking at?" Brenda asked, taking a break from her drawing.

Sara shook her head and closed her laptop. "Just…something I'm going to buy. No big deal. How's that picture coming along?"

She placed her bid for the house the next day and waited anxiously for a call from her realtor. Ideas were already forming in her head as she went over the layout of the house. The room that would be Brenda's had a window seat that would be perfect for reading and there was plenty of space to play. The kitchen was fully equipped to service the girl's budding culinary abilities. Sara made a note to herself to purchase more cookbooks.

Not a word was spoken to Brenda, though. Sara knew that absolutely nothing was definite. She had yet to turn in her application. It lay, completed, in her desk drawer, save for address and employment. The moment her bid was accepted and the house was hers, Sara carefully filled in her would-be address. It would be a while yet before the closing, but the purchase made her one step closer to becoming a parent.

Now all that was left to deal with was work.

All three shifts as the Las Vegas Crime Lab were dangerously understaffed. Sara was banking on that fact to expedite her move to dayshift. She knew that the city was going to eventually give in and hire more scientists, so there was room for Sara on the shift of her choice. And so, on a day when she was sure Grissom was away at court and far from the lab, Sara knocked on Ecklie's office door.

"Sara Sidle," he sneered. "To what do I owe this surprise?"

She sat down across from him, willing herself to be calm. She could not risk pissing Ecklie off. Getting a spot on day shift was vital if she were going to raise Brenda fulltime. "I would like to move to the day shift as soon as possible."

Ecklie narrowed his eyes at her. "Why?"

Sara was not going to spill the beans about the adoption to a man for whom she had so little respect. She decided it was best to be vague. "I have no problem with the nightshift staff. Grissom has been a great boss," she told him, hoping to dispel any thought on his part that her reason for wanting a move was due to a strained relationship with Grissom. "I need a…change of pace."

Sitting back in his chair, Ecklie eyed her. "Nightshift usually gets the high profile cases in this town," he pointed out.

"I'm not here for fame and glory."

He stared at her for a long time. "All right, Sidle. Aaron Levy from days has asked for a transfer to nightshift. His wife works nights as a nurse at County General and he wanted to be on the same clock as her," Ecklie explained. "We'll call it an even trade."

Sara's eyes widened. "That's it?"

He nodded. "That's it. Levy wants to switch ASAP, so once we get the paperwork together," Ecklie sighed, looking at the stack of files on his desk, "you'll be an official employee of the dayshift."

"Thank you." She got up to leave, and then paused. "Can I ask you…um…do you mind if I tell Grissom?"

"Sidle, I don't care," Ecklie said.

Sara said nothing as she left. She was elated -- the application could now be completed -- and she was terrified. One of the hardest parts of this process, she knew, would be saying goodbye to Grissom. They would be in the same city, would work in the same building, but they wouldn't be working together. There would be no more quiet nights combing the desert for clues to a mafia murder or long sessions of piecing together evidence they collected while the moon was high in the sky. In the future, while night fell on the city of Las Vegas, Sara would be putting Brenda to bed, perhaps reading her a story before turning the light out. And Grissom would still be out there with his moonlit evidence.

After faxing her application to social services, Sara picked Brenda up from school and took her to a movie. As they sat in the air-conditioned theater, Sara ignored the film and began to rehearse what she would say to Grissom in her head. At the beginning of the shift, she'd ask him to talk by the night's end. She pictured herself sitting across from him in his office. He'd be solemn. She'd be nervous, twiddling her fingers, peeling a hangnail.

But no words would come out of her mouth. She would just sit there and he would just stare. Waiting.

Sara's heart began to beat faster.

Before she knew it, she was back at the lab. Before she could open her mouth, Grissom rounded her out of the building and into his SUV. "We've got a smash and grab at the Luxor, but after that I want to check out a lead in the Carmichael case. Used car dealer says he sold her a white Toyota Camry."

Sara's mind immediately kicked into CSI gear. "Her? Or someone who looked like her?"

Grissom made a face but said nothing. They drove quietly to the Luxor and collected evidence from the hotel's watch boutique. As Sara inspected the pavé diamonds on a Rolex she was reminded of how time was running out for her. Everything was moving so fast. It seemed like she had made her decision to adopt barely a breath ago. And now here she was, working up the nerve to tell Grissom she'd be leaving his shift.

She cleared her throat and looked up at Grissom. "Do you think we could talk after shift? I've got some…stuff…I want to discuss with you."

He drew his brows together. "Okay."

The night wore on and as they were packing up to deliver the evidence to the lab, Grissom's phone began to vibrate. His voice was clipped and short, and he didn't bother to look at Sara when he spoke. "That was Brass. He ran the registration number of the Camry. The woman who owns it is a schoolteacher in Lake Tahoe."

"Are you sure?"

"Brass checked her driver's license. Same height and build as Shannon, but not a match," he said gravely as he bent down to pick up his kit. "Let's go."

Sara wanted to say something, bet decided against it. When Grissom got in one of his moods, it was usually best to say nothing. They piled into his SUV and drove back to the lab, distributing the evidence amongst the various technicians. They walked out into the hall together, and Sara sighed. "What should we do now?"

Grissom put his hands in his pockets. "I'm going back to Shannon's apartment. Maybe I missed something before." It was pointless to tell him there was nothing he missed, that he had already combed over every inch of Shannon Carmichael's living space dozens of times. He would just shrug his shoulders and shake his head in response.

He turned to go and she watched him walk down the empty hallway. For so long, Grissom had been Sara's hero. He was representing a noble cause in a world full of crime and corruption. She recalled his behavior in previous cases, ones that almost matched his dedication to the Shannon Carmichael case. His callous treatment of those around him was dismissed easily because he was the good guy in her fairy tale. He was her good guy.

But as she watched him press the button for the elevator, all Sara saw was her lonely man.

"Grissom," she called out to him, running to meet him as the elevator doors opened. "Can I come with you?"

TBC…


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

They had been here before. Shannon Carmichael's apartment had been dusted for every available print. Sara had even spent a considerable amount of time under the bed with a flashlight so Grissom wouldn't have to squeeze awkwardly under the box spring. Nothing probative ever surfaced. She just found random junk most everybody stored under the bed and out of sight. Still, each seemingly innocuous article was inspected and then re-inspected by Grissom. The high school year book, dusty and tattered, was read cover to cover and the little notes scribbled in the margins by classmates scrutinized.

When he was taken aback by some of the lascivious complements from teen boys in the back of Shannon's yearbook, Sara only sighed tiredly, "This stuff is in everybody's yearbook."

"Well, I wouldn't know," Grissom said quietly.

Sara shrugged. "Neither would I, actually. I graduated early. Didn't get a yearbook."

"Me either," he told her as he flipped to Shannon's picture. Though Sara knew the missing woman had grown to be quite attractive from the museum ID provided to the police at the start of their investigation, Shannon hadn't been the most gorgeous of girls if her high school yearbook picture was anything to go by, a fact that infused Sara with a sense of camaraderie. For the CSI, high school, like most of life, had been a test of endurance, just something else to withstand until it ended. She hadn't been popular and her gawkiness did not win points with teen boys. Sara shot up seven inches the summer she turned thirteen, making an already thin teenager looked practically emaciated, her slim bones prominent under sallow skin that only ever saw the light of the lamps in the library.

Grissom closed the yearbook and slipped it back into an evidence envelope. They moved quietly to Shannon's closet, a spot that had been revisited so many times – as was each crevice in the apartment – that Sara was beginning to feel as if they weren't investigating, but mourning. Each object was treated like a headstone, read and reread, as both stood silently above it, willing it for more information.

"Huh," Sara grunted as she noticed something for the first time.

Grissom's head snapped up and his eyes widened. "What? Do you see something?"

She shook her head. "No. No, I just…have those shoes," she said, pointing to the pair of black kidskin pumps sitting in an open shoebox. "I hadn't noticed that before." He bent down and picked up the box with a gloved hand. Sara pressed her lips together as she remembered purchasing them to attend Detective Lockwood's funeral a couple of years back.

Grissom pulled a shoe out of the box and held it up for inspection. "I've never seen you in them."

Sara knew she could've fired back with something akin to, _There's a lot of things you haven't seen me in_, but she didn't see the point of attempting to flirt with a broken man staring at a shoe. Instead, she carefully extracted the high heel from Grissom's hand, along with the box, and put them back on the floor. Tonight it had been the shoes. The previous Monday, he had become fixated on Shannon's blender. Two weeks before that, it had been the shower curtain.

Grissom stared at his empty hands for a moment before dropping them to his side. "Shift is almost over," he said, his eyes on Sara. "You said you wanted to discuss something with me?"

She immediately took in their surroundings and felt her insides cringe in horror. He wanted to talk in the middle of Shannon's bedroom. She'd have to tell him she was leaving the nightshift in a room where they had spent fruitless hours in the quest to find a missing woman.

There was nothing to do but let it all out. Sara took a deep breath and decided to begin her story with Brenda. And that meant beginning with the night they had met her, five years earlier.

"Do you…do you remember the Collins murder?" she asked breathlessly. "Four dead…"

"Husband, wife, two sons," Grissom said, nodding his head. "It was right after you came to Vegas."

"Yes." Sara bit her lip. "The daughter—"

"Tina, right? She got a boyfriend to murder the family in their sleep," he said, the facts all coming back to him. "They both got life with the possibility of parole in fifty years."

"There was someone else…"

Grissom furrowed his brows, and then it dawned on him. "The little girl. Brenda."

"She's nine now. Almost ten," Sara began. "I saw her at the museum when we went to interview Shannon Carmichael's boss. She was with her class." Grissom stood silent as she continued. "I, uh…well, as you know, you assigned me to stay with her during the investigation, and I did. When I saw her again, all these years later, she, uh…she had the same look on her face. I called social services to check up on her." Sara fidgeted uncomfortably and then willed herself still so she could finish. "She's in a group home now. The city – well, they have this mentoring program and I signed up to help Brenda. Just to help," she pressed. "But…after some careful consideration, I've decided to adopt her."

If his eyes had widened anymore, they would have fallen out of the sockets. Grissom stood, shocked, but said nothing.

"The reason I'm telling you all of this," Sara hastily continued, "is because it would go a long way in helping me to adopt Brenda if I…moved to dayshift."

"Dayshift?"

"I need to prove that my work schedule will not interfere with raising a child," she explained.

Grissom seemed to fumble for words. "But…but Catherine worked nightshift for years and she has a kid."

"She also has her family to help her," Sara pointed out. "And she hasn't exactly had an easy time if it." She shook her head when she saw he was about to argue. "This isn't about Catherine. This is about what's right for Brenda. And what's right for me. I spoke to Ecklie."

"Ecklie," he repeated, his tone deadly. "And he approved this?"

"You're getting Levy from days in exchange."

"And that's it?" Grissom asked, pissed off.

"As soon as the paperwork is done…yeah," she answered him smoothly.

"So…that's all you have to say? You're breaking apart the team and that's all you have to say?"

"Grissom, look around. You're team is already gone. It was gone the moment the majority of it moved to swing," Sara reminded him, trying her best to keep her cool.

"This isn't about – it's…I brought you here. And you…you went to Ecklie first. You didn't discuss this with me," he said stonily.

She exhaled. "This wasn't your decision to make."

"So that's it? You're leaving nightshift and Ecklie is sticking me with Levy, who's barely one rung above Greg," Grissom said hotly.

Sara closed her eyes and then opened them slowly. "I guess this conversation is over." She turned and walked out of the room and down the hallway, reaching into her pocket for her phone and dialing a cab company to pick her up and drop her off at work so she could get her car. There was no way she was riding back with Grissom. She made a grab for the doorknob, but her arm stopped midway before being pulled back at the elbow. Grissom turned her around to face him. He was breathing hard, and Sara knew the walk from the bedroom to the front door wasn't the cause of it.

"You…you…"

"Me?" Sara asked, yanking her arm from his grip. "Don't you mean _you_? Because it's always about you, isn't it, Grissom?" All semblances of patience and understanding were lost. "I just told you that I am adopting a child – a child whose life had been one freak show after another – and the only thing you are concerned about is how inconvenienced you will be. You know the worst of me, Grissom," she said slowly, her voice lower than normal. "You know everything ugly and horrific and…that doesn't factor into your thinking at all, does it? All you care about is how your life will change."

His jaw slackened, but he said nothing.

"I'll give you a hint, Grissom. Your life won't change much," she said quietly. "I wasn't in it much in the first place, anyway."

Sara could hear a horn honk loudly outside of the apartment door, telling her that her cab was waiting. She shook her head as she left, closing the door on Grissom and a chapter of her life that she didn't care to ever reread.

TBC…

A/N: I know chapters haven't exactly been coming on time. I apologize and hope to post in a more timely fashion.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The guilt was palpable. Sara could feel it in her bones, fusing with the marrow. She had just left Grissom. For almost any person, the leaving of one from another entails a romantic relationship of some sort -- one lover walking out on another. Though he was not her lover, Sara had always felt that the relationship she had with Grissom was a romance. It was twisted and completely abnormal, but it was theirs. Her feelings of love for him never wavered, even at the worst of times, and though early on she had doubted the strength of his love for her, as she walked out of Shannon Carmichael's apartment she was sure he felt the same for her. And she was just as sure he'd never be able to express it to her. This limbo often hurt more than any belief that he felt nothing for her at all.

Because limbo meant he didn't feel enough.

Sara had no idea what was in Grissom's way that prevented him from overcoming his fears and telling her he loved her. There were times when she wanted to forgive him for it, to be understanding of the ghosts in his past that were keeping him from her. And yet there were other times when Sara counted her own battle scars, and recounted her own battles with the ghosts of her past, and it was those times when she could not excuse his inaction. She had grown up a girl determined to be alone, a girl who did not want to bother with the entanglements of relationships for fear her inability to love would become apparent. Like the sciences she immersed herself in at an early age, Sara had drilled this into her brain, into her subconscious: She could not love. She would not.

She didn't know how.

And yet…and yet he was worth the risk. He was worth throwing a twenty-five year old mantra out the window. He was worth exposing her heart to all the suffering it had endured for the length of their acquaintance because he proved her theorem wrong. She could love.

For that she was thankful.

Like a seed carried by the wind, Sara's love had taken root in a place she had not expected. She loved a child. It was a new situation for her, but certainly not unwelcome. This new love kept her strong as she faced the changes ahead of her.

The move to dayshift went off without a hitch. Greg was sullen and Grissom remained in his office as she said goodbye for the weekend, intending to come back a day dweller on Monday. Moving into the new house kept her busy, kept her mind off of Grissom. Sara stayed up through the daytime making sure each new piece of furniture was put in its proper place, perfecting the layout of Brenda's new room and unpacking the boxes of books she had bought to help fill their new library. Late Saturday afternoon, she took Brenda to a carnival and on Sunday, to a movie, in order to keep the child out of the soon-to-be-vacant apartment, which was practically bare. The approval for adoption had yet to come through, and Sara was intent on preventing Brenda getting her hopes dashed on the off chance she was turned down. She told the girl nothing. There were some moments -- when she picked out a bedroom set or bought toys for the pool -- where Sara wondered if Brenda would indeed be happy with her, if she would want to be adopted at all. But then Brenda would slip a small hand into her own, or Sara would spot her enormous schoolbag, brimming with the books she had bought that the little girl was unwilling to let out of her sight for fear they'd get stolen. It made Sara confident in a way she never felt before. Brenda would be happy. To be sure of someone's happiness was, again, altogether new for Sara. But, again, it was not unwelcome.

The final week of school came to a close when Sara received word that she had been approved for adoption. Twin feelings of elation and relief swam through her. She could exhale. Drunk on pure pleasure, she picked Brenda up from the last day of school, all smiles. After cooing over Brenda's report card, Sara grinned at her through the rearview mirror and asked, "How about some ice cream?"

"Yes!" the little girl exclaimed. She held up her report card. "Can we hang this up on your refrigerator?"

"Sure thing," Sara laughed. "It's very impressive." She took a deep breath and drove to the new house.

They weren't long into their drive before Brenda noticed Sara was taking a different route. "Where are we going? A new ice cream place?"

She bit her lip hard and then met the girl's eyes in the rearview mirror. "I…bought a house."

"W-will I be able to see you anymore?"

"Of course!" Sara exclaimed. "It's close by."

"Oh. Okay."

Brenda's silence worried Sara. She had expected a barrage of questions about the house, or at the very least, some enthusiasm. The driveway was a long and winding road, and as she pulled into it, she glanced back at the girl.

Sara sighed. "Why so quiet?"

"Families live in houses."

Sara raised her brows. "Um…yes, they do."

"You're getting ready to have a family, aren't you?" Brenda stared out the window blankly.

"I…well…yes."

"You'll get married. And then you'll have your own kids," she said blankly. "You won't need me."

"Oh my _God_," Sara exclaimed, stopping the car and jumping out. She ran to Brenda's door and opened in quickly, kneeling down to her eye level. "_You_, kiddo. That's who I was preparing for. Oh my God," she repeated, unbuckling Brenda and hoisting her out of her seat and holding her to her. Brenda was very still and said nothing. Sara pulled her head back so she could look at the little girl, her little girl. "I talked to your caseworker. I asked how I would go about…adopting you." Brenda's eyes widened, and for a moment, Sara was reminded of Grissom's reaction to the same news. "So, I, uh…I applied for adoption and today, it came through. So now…you can come and live with me…if you want. If you want, this is your house, too."

Brenda's bottom lip started to quiver, and as if it were an earthquake on her face, it set off more facial tics until the little girl's entire face was contorted as if she were in pain. She let out a magnificent sob that echoed through the trees around them. Tears streamed down her face, harder and faster than when she lost her first copy of _Little Women_, alarming Sara.

"Brenda! Are you alright?"

Brenda nodded and continued to cry, and Sara found herself crying as well, great sobs to match those of her daughter.

TBC…


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Once the tears subsided, Sara led Brenda through the front door. They entered the living room, which Sara had decorated much like her apartment, with deep jewel tones and more exotic pieces of furniture. The carved wooden screen that once stood by her door was now next to the fireplace, and in front of it was the roomy leather chair she had sat on when she explained her past to Grissom. Sara had carefully avoided sitting in that chair since, but after the moving men unpacked it and left, she tentatively sat down on it, knowing she couldn't live in the house with Brenda _and _her ghosts, even the ghosts of Grissom.

They walked into the kitchen next. It was a large, open space with stainless steel appliances and smooth granite countertops. There was a breakfast bar that led into the dining room. Sara had yet to order any good china, but it was on her list of things to buy. As they walked into the family room towards the back of the house, she kept her eye on Brenda. The little girl had yet to say a word.

Sara had filled the family room with comfortable furniture for relaxing and watching television. Board games from _Monopoly _to _Operation _had been purchased last minute when Sara realized that there was nothing in the new house for Brenda to play with. On a midnight trip to the local Wal-Mart, she stocked up on the games, along with what she could only hope were decent children's DVDs. Sara threw whatever had Disney written on the cover into her shopping cart, along with anything else that seemed watchable. The tales of big green ogres and little lost fish would no doubt occupy the rainy afternoons when neither felt like doing much more than advancing to Go and collecting $200.

"Do you like it?" she asked tentatively, and giving a sigh of relief as she watched the little blonde head bob up and down slowly. Sara took Brenda's hand and squeezed it tight. "Now, the next room…it's a work in progress." They walked hand-in-hand to the large mahogany door by the stairs. She pushed it open and Brenda gasped.

The ceilings stood tall, lined with bookshelves that had yet to be filled. Sara had overestimated her collection of literature, thinking it would make a dent in the space. Her books barely filled up two bookcases. After stocking up on books suitable for Brenda -- everything from _The Chronicles of Narnia _to _The Catcher in the Rye _-- there was still plenty of room left for their growing collection. In the middle of the room in front of the mantle was a sizeable leather couch. Its matching chair and ottoman were by the window, a soft throw draped over the back. They were perfect spots for reading.

Brenda let go of Sara's hand and began perusing the shelves, lost in the titles at her fingertips. They stayed in the library for several minutes until Brenda made her way around the room, coming back to Sara. She reached for her hand again.

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Want to see your room?"

Brenda's room had been decorated with much trepidation. Sara had gone to evidence storage at the lab to find the pictures Catherine had taken of Brenda's old room while she was working the case. It had been white, with touches of pink -- a typical little girl's room. Sara was determined to create the polar opposite of the place that had housed so much horror for Brenda. Instead of white, she had the walls painted a bright teal, a shade identical to the color Brenda most favored when she painted with watercolors. The bedspread and accessories were a shocking lime green silk, and the furniture was lovely antique-looking dark wood, with clean lines. Sara had purchased a new computer for Brenda and had set it up herself on the desk. She had gone a bit overboard with it, and admitted to herself that her kid would be writing book reports on a machine that was probably better than her own. It made her smile, though, to give something nice to Brenda.

"You can, uh, do your homework here," Sara told her. "The TV is there," she said, pointing to a nice sized flat screen on the dresser. At once, Sara shook her head, chuckling to herself at her nervousness. "You're closet is over there." She walked to it and opened the door. There was a pale yellow T-shirt and a matching skirt hanging up. "We'll go to the mall tomorrow and get you more stuff. I wasn't sure what would fit you, so I picked out this," she told Brenda, taking the outfit out and holding it up against the little girl. Sara had bought it the day before, estimating Brenda's size as best she could and choosing garments that had a bit of give in case she guessed wrong. She scrunched up her nose. "Do you like it?"

Brenda nodded earnestly.

"Your bathroom is right through there," Sara said, pointing.

"My own _bathroom_?"

Sara laughed as she walked towards Brenda's bathroom. She had done it up in subdued blues for a nice change of pace from the wild hues in the bedroom. A toothbrush, dental floss and other bathroom paraphernalia were stored away in their proper places.

Brenda sighed and Sara put her arm around the little girl, giving her hair a tousle before resting her hand on a small shoulder. "Everything okay?"

Brenda nodded. "Thank you. For adopting me, I mean," she said quickly. "And…all of this."

"You're very welcome," Sara answered, her throat suddenly very tight.

In a flash, Brenda turned and hugged her tight, burying her face in Sara's stomach as her arms wrapped around her mother's waist. Though the little girl was silent, Sara could feel the dampness of her tears through her shirt. She stroked her hair and held her.

Brenda sniffled and looked up at Sara who was wiping a tear from her own eye.

"We're a couple of weepy women today, aren't we?" she smiled. She picked Brenda up and held her, swaying gently.

They laughed and went downstairs to make dinner. It was a typical evening, with discussion of Brenda's summer booklist and speculation about her new fifth grade teacher. But Sara could feel the change as she loaded the dishwasher. Usually at around this time, she'd be getting ready to drive Brenda back to the group home. Her schoolbag would be leaning against the door, holding everything that was dear to the little girl, ready to be heaved onto Brenda's back as she walked to the car.

"Brenda?"

The girl stopped spinning around on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "What?" she asked, hands flat on the granite countertop to steady herself.

"Why don't you unload all of your books out of your backpack and onto the bookshelves in the library?"

"Okay." Brenda hopped off of the stool and lugged her backpack into the library.

Sara smiled and then checked her watch. It was getting late, but the sun had yet to set. She furrowed her brows. _What time do nine-year-olds go to bed? _she asked herself. Trying to think back to her own childhood nighttime schedule was useless. Even if she could remember more than twenty years back, it wouldn't matter. Her parents hadn't been concerned when their little girl went to bed. Sara remembered hiding out in her room as much as possible, trying to stay out of the way of the fights. There, she would just read until she fell asleep. Sometimes she'd be up until the birds were chirping, either because Jane Austen was too good to put down or because the yelling was so loud, the voices vibrated through her bedroom walls.

Brenda needed more structure. That much Sara knew. Eight o'clock seemed too early. Ten was too late. Throwing up her hands in defeat, Sara decided to play it by ear. She found Brenda on the big leather couch in the library, curled up with a book.

"What do you have there?"

Brenda looked up, startled, and then smiled. "_Harry Potter_. I heard some kids at school talking about it."

Sara nodded. "I think I bought, like, two or three of those movies, too. Do you want to go watch them?"

"Book first," Brenda said, not bothering to look up as her eyes absorbed the words on the page. Sara chuckled to herself, glad she had picked a winner. She purchased the set -- five large, rather intimidating books -- at the suggestion of a bookstore clerk whose attentiveness, she suspected, had more to do with Sara's low-riding jeans than with the prospect of a sale. Still, it was nice to get some attention from a man, even though he looked barely old enough to vote. For a moment, Sara wondered if Grissom had looked at her so casually: flattered at the interest, but fearful of the age gap. She shook her head. It ran deeper than that. Their relationship, no matter how flawed, was not built on the shallow.

Walking over to the nearest shelf, Sara sighed and pulled out a copy of _Sense & Sensibility_. She sat down next to Brenda and let the book fall open on her lap. Her eyes scanned the page, falling on one line in particular. '_He is such a charming man, that it is quite a pity he should be so grave and so dull_.' She laughed so loud, Brenda looked up from her book.

"It's nothing," Sara assured her, continuing to laugh. All the teenage bookstore clerks in the world could hit on her and she'd still find Grissom in every page she read.

TBC…

A/N: For some reason, this chapter was the hardest for me to write, which is weird because nothing really happens. I think the next chapters will be easier to crank out.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

After Brenda's third yawn, Sara checked her watch.

"Bedtime."

"But I just st-st-started," Brenda protested, mid-yawn. "I want to finish," she said, holding up her copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_.

Sara shook her head. "You can continue it tomorrow. Right now, you need some sleep."

Brenda slid off of the couch, still clutching her book, and she and Sara walked upstairs to her bedroom. Sara opened the top dresser drawer and pulled out a nightgown she had purchased for Brenda's first night at the house. They'd go shopping the next day. Brenda's old clothes were still at the group home and, in Sara's estimation, needed replacing. She handed the little girl the nightgown and gestured to the bathroom. "Change and brush your teeth."

Nodding sleepily, Brenda placed her book on the nightstand and trudged to the bathroom. Sara turned down the bed and turned on the floor lamp in the corner of the room. She wasn't sure how Brenda felt about sleeping in the dark in a new place.

Dressed in her new nightgown, Brenda walked out of the bathroom a bit more awake than when she went in. "I think I have floss stuck in my teeth."

"Let me see," Sara said, holding Brenda's chin and tipping her head back as she opened her mouth. "I don't see anything. Oh…right there between your bottom left molars," she said, noticing a waxy blue piece of string.

"I thought so," Brenda said, feeling around for the floss and tugging it out.

"Better?"

"Better."

After an awkward moment, Brenda turned around and got into bed, sitting up against the pillows as she pulled the quilt over her legs.

"Lights on? Lights off?"

Eyebrows raised as if she had never been given a say in the matter, Brenda eventually decided, "Lights on."

Sara clenched and unclenched her hands and then leaned down to place a kiss on the top of Brenda's head as she whispered, "Good night."

She felt Brenda's arms reach around her neck and hold her in place as the little girl rested her head on Sara's shoulder. "I love you."

She froze. Her stomach tightened and she could hear her heart beat in her ears. "I love you, too," she finally answered back.

"Thank you."

And with that, Sara bid her little girl goodnight. She left Brenda's bedroom door open, and did the same with her own door, in case Brenda needed something in the middle of the night. Sara sighed as she entered her own room. She hadn't spent nearly as much time decorating it as she had Brenda's, but it was still the nicest bedroom she ever had. The cherry sleighbed was the focal point of the room, its crisp white duvet and pillows looking like a cool oasis on any hot Vegas night. The walls were a very faint rose, and the femininity of the pink was balanced by the strong, bulky furniture. The plasma television hung on the wall like a pictureless frame, and was flanked by two of Brenda's watercolor paintings depicting scenes from _Little Women_.

Sara changed into pajamas and slid under the covers. She didn't bother with television. Instead, she smiled at Brenda's watercolors as she drifted off to sleep.

Habit and nerves had her waking up early. Sara sat up in bed planning her next move. It was barely six in the morning. She had the urge to go see Brenda, to wake her up so they could begin their day. She got out of bed and crept down the hall so she could peek on the little girl. Brenda lay sprawled on her mattress, her copy of _Harry Potter _open. Sara smiled. Brenda had obviously continued reading late into the night. She reminded Sara of herself, of those nights when the stories in books mattered more than extra hours of sleep.

Sara decided to let Brenda have those extra hours anyway, so she took a shower and got dressed while Brenda slept. It was still quite early by the time Sara was ready. She went down to the kitchen and started on some pancake batter so it would be ready by the time Brenda woke up.

At around eight thirty, a sleepy-eyed Brenda wandered into the kitchen, clutching her book and rubbing her eyes. "Good morning!" Sara chirped.

"G'morning," Brenda mumbled, and Sara laughed to herself. This kid was not a morning person.

"Do you want some pancakes?"

Brenda nodded and climbed up onto a stool at the breakfast bar to watch Sara as she heated up the pan, melting butter on the nonstick surface. As the pancakes cooked, Sara got a glass of orange juice for Brenda and some coffee for herself and began to discuss their day.

"First stop will be the mall. You need clothes and shoes," she said. "And a haircut. I think there's a salon in one of the department stores." Sara continued to go down her mental checklist. "You'll need some bathing suits, too, for the pool."

Though she wasn't too enthused about a haircut, Brenda perked up at the mention of the pool. They ate breakfast at the kitchen table.

"How's the book?"

"_Good_," Brenda stressed. And with that, she began to describe the plot animatedly: an orphan boy, neglected for much of his childhood, finally finds a home at school. "And he's _a wizard_."

When they were done with breakfast, Sara gathered the dishes together while Brenda ran to her room to get dressed.

"And brush your teeth!" Sara yelled up after her.

The mall wasn't as crowded as Sara had feared. It was still early, so they could amble from store to store, finding exactly what they needed without having to navigate around other shoppers. They had to build Brenda's wardrobe from scratch. After stocking up on underwear and socks, they loaded up on footwear -- sneakers, shoes, flip-flops for the pool -- and carried the bags back to the car so they could continue to shop hands free. Sara could see Brenda was a bit uncomfortable about spending so much money, so she did her best to let the little girl know she was enthused about the purchases, and not upset about the cost. And when they walked out of the salon, Sara was so effusive with her praise for Brenda's new haircut -- a sweet, shoulder-length bob -- that pink patches formed on Brenda's cheeks. They ate at the food court, bought some CDs and DVDs, and then headed home. Sara unpacked all of Brenda's new clothes, hanging up dresses and folding shirts and pants into the drawers, while the small girl sat on the window seat in her room, completely immersed in her book. Bach played softly in the background as Sara smoothed out Brenda's attempt at making her own bed. She was considering getting a book to read herself when Brenda suddenly shouted, "Done!"

"Done with what? Your chapter?"

"No, the book! I'm done," Brenda clarified.

Sara eyed the thick novel. "With the whole thing?"

"Yep," Brenda said, hopping off of her window seat. "I'm going to go get the next one."

"Wait, wait, wait," Sara said, stopping her. "I've got to talk to you about something." It was a subject she had wanted to deal with at breakfast, but wasn't sure how to go about it. Monday was fast approaching, and with that came work. Brenda was out of school for the summer and in need of supervision during the day. Sara was prepared, though. She had asked Brenda's teacher about summer camp, and the woman mentioned the Davis Academy, a place which Sara concluded, after checking it out online, was a camp for nerds. Horseback riding replaced the ubiquitous dodgeball, and music lessons and chess were offered instead of ashtray sculpting and birdhouse building.

"Two of the children in the other fourth grade will be going there this summer, I believe" Mrs. Banes had informed her. "And my niece enjoyed it immensely when she went there. She's at Wellesley now, you know."

Sara had set up an appointment to visit the grounds of the camp to make sure the website wasn't embellishing the truth. Indeed, it wasn't. She found herself wishing she was young enough to go there with Brenda.

"Your daughter will be in a small group with children of her own age," the camp director informed Sara during a rigorous question session. "A Davis Academy van will pick her up in the morning and drop her off in the afternoon, if you are unable to."

Sara was sold. Now all that was left was to run it by Brenda. Though she had paid her deposit for the first month, Sara knew it was up to Brenda to give the final answer. If she was adamantly against it, they'd need to find out another way to work the summer out.

"Camp?"

"Yes. But not regular camp. You'll have music lessons and they take you to museums and --"

Brenda narrowed her eyes. "But I thought I'd be with you."

"You will be," Sara assured her. "This is just while I'm at work during the day."

Brenda looked at the brochure Sara had placed in her hands. She was skeptical, that much Sara could tell. "But I don't know how to play any instrument."

"They teach you," Sara told her. "And then you can come home and teach me, because I can't play anything, either."

Brenda giggled and then rolled her eyes. "Okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I've always wanted to ride a horse."

Sara smiled. "Cool."

"Harry Potter rides a broom, though, and he --"

"Enough with Harry Potter," Sara laughed, trying to feign exasperation. "Brooms are for sweeping."

"They are for _Quidditch_," Brenda countered.

Sara raised her eyebrows. "And that is?"

The little girl smiled and sighed. "Okay, I'll explain it again..."

TBC…


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Brenda's first week at camp proved to be a success. Every afternoon, Sara was regaled with tales of Brenda's activities, from picking hooves to scales on the piano. The little girl absorbed each new experience and then gave a detailed report after arriving home. But what was most gratifying for Sara was the mention of other children in Brenda's accounts of her days at camp. Her stories weren't just of the chess moves she'd learned, but of her new friend Martin Cheng who taught them to her; Brenda didn't just talk about the horses she had gotten to ride, but of the girl Norah Oliver who helped her handle the reigns. Both children, Sara had learned, went to Brenda's school.

"They were in Miss Roach's fourth grade class," she explained excitedly. "But we'll all be in the same class next year." And Brenda continued with descriptions of her new friends until Sara felt she had met them herself. It shocked and pleased her that Brenda had taken to her peers so quickly. She had never mentioned a classmate before then. Sara wondered if it was the camp atmosphere or the fact that Brenda now had a home and a parent to call her own that brought about the change. She supposed it was some of both. Sara gradually saw a build up of confidence in Brenda, and it made her own confidence as a mother grow. When she first started spending time with Brenda, Sara felt utterly clueless as to what it took to care for a child. The cluelessness was still there, but in a thankfully lesser quantity. The real change for Sara was the fact that she trusted that her judgment would prevail through the tough times. She knew she would never have all of the answers, but she was secure in the fact that she was doing a good job, and her choices, so far, were on the money. Brenda was evidence of that.

"Martin has an older sister that is almost as old as you," the little girl continued. "And he has a niece and a nephew. And Norah has three older brothers from her dad's first marriage. One of them fell off of a horse and broke his arm once," she said, eyes wide. Sara just smiled and listened to the minutiae Brenda had collected about her new friends.

Sara was extremely happy knowing Brenda was okay at camp. It made work easier. She didn't have to worry that Brenda was sitting alone at lunch or not participating in activities -- worries that had plagued her before the adoption. Work was less emotionally draining, leaving Sara to wonder if it was because she had a life outside of it or if it was the fact that she was no longer working side by side with Grissom. Her new boss, Henry Woo, was a small, gray-haired Asian man that had been hired to run dayshift. He was world-renown for his work in blood spatter analysis, and it was a real coup for Ecklie to have Zen Master Woo -- as Greg called him -- working in the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Henry Woo was a quiet man, quieter than Grissom ever was. Sara took her assignments from him and got to the job, with little worry of what he thought of her. He wasn't effusive in his praise, and she didn't mind that. The job was reward enough, and the joy of it was returning to her after all these years.

It made Sara feel a bit guilty to be enjoying herself so much at work when she knew that Grissom was doing worse than she had ever seen him, or, at least, from the little she saw of him. He always seemed to be holed up in his office. Greg had actually stayed late at work so he could relay his worries to Sara. She had contemplated going to Grissom and confronting him about his behavior, but she knew she had no right to say anything anymore. They had both burned bridges and she still resented his reaction to the news of her adoption of Brenda just as she was sure he still resented her for moving to dayshift. There was no room for headway, so when Greg suggested she go to Grissom, Sara just shook her head and told him she couldn't.

Luckily for her, she couldn't wallow in the state of her relationship with Grissom. There was work to be done. A child from Staten Island who had gone missing months before was spotted on the Strip. Woo called Sara to his office to brief her on the situation.

"The FBI is coming in from New York tomorrow. Their Missing Persons division had been handling the case there," he told her soberly. "They will work in conjunction with you."

"The FBI?"

"Yes," Woo answered as he got back to his paperwork. "I heard from Captain Brass that you had worked with them before in an investigation some time ago. I know much of the lab is hostile towards new people on their turf," he said, making Sara wonder if he was referring to his own situation, and reminding her of her own time as the new girl.

"Alright. When will they be here?"

Woo looked up from the file on his desk. "Now, I believe." He was staring over her shoulder and Sara turned her head to see a dark figure in the doorway. "Special Agent Malone, I presume?"

"Dr. Woo," the dark-haired man said, nodding his head. "We spoke on the phone."

"Ah, yes. This is Sara Sidle," Woo said as Agent Malone held out his hand to Sara, "She will be working with you on the case."

Sara took his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Agent Malone."

"Call me Jack, please," he said, giving her a tired, half smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Jack."

TBC…


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer #2: I don't own _Without a Trace_. And this isn't a crossover fic. It's more like a cameo.

Chapter 18

Sara led Jack down the hall to the A/V lab where Archie was loading up video taken from a traffic light that had managed to snap a picture of the missing Staten Island boy as he crossed a busy intersection with a unknown woman.

"The initial police report said Jamie Garfield went missing two months ago," Sara said, "the same time his nanny, Norma McClure, disappeared without a trace." She reached into a manila folder. "The faxed copy I have of McClure's driver's license doesn't match the woman seen in the video with Jamie. I don't have anything else from New York."

"My office is sending the file now," Jack said, staring at the screen.

"You didn't bring it with you?"

"I was in Chicago. This isn't my case."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Whose is it?"

"My partner -- Vivian Johnson -- this is her case," he told her quickly. "I was closer so I came."

"Oh."

Sara left it at that as they slowly unraveled the case. Jack's partner's notes proved very helpful, detailing the nanny's life and acquaintances and bringing both investigator's up to speed on the events surrounding the disappearance of the little boy. Jack said nothing beyond what was pertinent to the case. At first Sara figured him for another Grissom: detached, dedicated to his work, consumed by it with little time for anything else. But after a while, she began to notice the differences. He looked more worn than Grissom, as if he had seen too much of life, whereas Grissom often gave Sara the impression of an alien on Earth, here to observe the human race. They were probably about the same age, and though Grissom had more gray hair than Jack, the FBI agent seemed so much older, as if he had taken all of the risks Grissom never dared to.

On the second day of investigation, they managed to track down Norma McClure's first hiding place, finding the woman dead in the cabin she had rented just outside of city limits. Jack had spent the previous night locating McClure's hideout while Sara had left work after shift. She felt a bit guilty for packing up and going home while her FBI counterpart toiled at the lab after hours. Six months ago, she would've been at Jack's side, hunting down leads with barely a break for sleep and no concern for food. Now, she headed straight home to be there when the Davis Academy van dropped Brenda off. The little girl would race to the front door, greet Sara hastily, and then run to the library to continue reading _Harry Potter_. Sara was shocked to see her nine-year-old plow through the thick novels. Brenda had graduated to the fourth book, a novel that seemed to match the heft of _Moby Dick_, and one that apparently needed every ounce of attention she could give it. Sara practically had to drag Brenda to the dinner table and force her to put down the book long enough to eat.

"I need to finish this one and the next one because the sixth book just came out and Norah and Martin have already finished it and said it was the best one ever," the little girl informed Sara breathlessly, scarfing down her salmon in large bites to finish dinner quicker. Brenda then launched into a detailed description of the day's activities. "And then we've got that trip to the circus on Friday," she added, taking a sip from her glass of lemonade.

Sara nodded. "They're taking you to it directly from camp? Or do I have to drive you there?"

"We're going in a bus," Brenda answered. "Is the circus fun? Have you ever been to one?"

"Uh…" Sara bit her lip. She had investigated the murder of a trapeze artist once, but didn't think that suitable dinner conversation with a child. "No. I haven't. I'm sure it'll be fun, though. There are probably lots of souvenirs to buy."

"I don't have any money."

Sara rolled her eyes. "I'll give you some." She furrowed her brows and then continued. "I think we should talk about a weekly allowance for you."

Brenda stopped shoveling food into her mouth. "An allowance?"

"Yeah."

"I don't need one."

"Well, I think you deserve one," Sara replied.

Brenda pressed her lips together for a moment. "You really don't have to --"

"I _want _to," Sara stressed. "You've always done all your homework. You make your bed every morning. You do the best impersonation of a monkey I have ever seen," she added, laughing. "And you're -- _I _think -- the best kid in the world. If you don't deserve an allowance, I don't know who does."

Brenda smiled shyly, and, for a moment, forgot that there were books to read and dinner to eat.

Sara smiled to herself at the memory as she lifted a print off of a doorknob in cabin. Jack was interviewing an older man in a neighboring cabin who had seen a tall, blonde woman leaving McClure's cabin with a little boy in tow.

"You think it's an accomplice?" Sara asked as they drove back to the lab.

"Could be."

"By all accounts, McClure was a loner. No family, hardly any friends."

Jack kept his eyes on the road. "Yep."

Sara was poised to make a sarcastic comment on the sparkling conversation they were having when Jack suddenly stopped the car short.

"What are you doing --"

"The trees," he whispered.

Sara shook her head. "What?"

"Over there," he said, pointing to a wooded area about a mile from the cabin grounds. "There's a tent."

She squinted her eyes and made out a gray nylon dome amidst the greenery. "So? It's a tent."

"Whoever took this kid knows that Norma McClure's body would eventually be found, and they know that the police are going to be looking for Jamie in every hotel and motel in a sixty mile radius," Jack explained.

"So you think the blonde woman seen with the boy is camping out close to the cabin, hoping we'll miss her?"

"Exactly," he said emphatically, unbuckling his seatbelt and quietly opening the driver's side door. "Call backup." With that, Jack left the car, drawing his gun out as he began to walk towards the tent. Sara quickly called the detective working the case with them, keeping an eye on Jack as she gave the coordinates of their location and the situation at hand. The FBI agent had approached the tent, lowered his gun, and seemed to be talking to the occupants of the grounds. Sara sighed and got out of the car, pulling out her cell phone instead of her gun, preparing to call Detective Vega back and tell him it was all a false alarm.

She stopped short when she saw Jack bend down and reach into the tent, pulling out Jamie Garfield and lifting him up. It was then that he noticed Sara and motioned for her to come to him. Jack handed the boy to Sara. "He's alright. Relatively," he added as the tall blonde woman in the neighbor's description emerged from the dome of the tent. Jack quickly cuffed the woman and read her her rights. She was pale and complacent, her tear-stained face staring off into the distance, not focused on anything in particular. The cops showed up and took over the scene.

Jamie dug his small head into Sara's shoulder and refused to budge. She peered into the tent and was surprised at the set up. There were picture books and toys, along with a large cooler full of fresh food. The kidnapper whose ghostly figure was now sitting silent in the back of a police cruiser had obviously taken much care in her preparations.

"Her name is Carla Desmond," Jack said, coming up along Sara's side. "She's not saying much, but I think McClure hired her to take care of the boy while she set up the ransom." He tousled Jamie's hair, getting his attention. "Your mom and dad are on their way. My name is Jack. This is Sara. We're going to stay with you until they get here." Jamie nodded and they all went back to the police station to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Garfield, who arrived four hours later, exhausted and elated.

The FBI agent and the CSI stood back and observed the family reunion quietly. Sara had a grin plastered on her face, and expected to see a matching one on Jack's. She was surprised to see his mouth firm, his countenance unreadable.

The LVPD would take over in the case against Carla Desmond, who, it was revealed after a background check, had lost her own son in a fire three years ago. She killed McClure before the woman had a chance to contact the Garfields for the ransom with the intent to raise little Jamie on her own. Sara couldn't help but feel a bit sad for Carla's situation. She was a criminal, but some criminals were more pitiable than others.

They went back to the lab to sign the necessary papers and officially close the Missing Persons case. Sara had clocked her first hours of overtime in months. For years it seemed as if she would max out on overtime before the month barely started, and then plea with Grissom to extend her hours. He always said yes, giving her a half-hearted warning about working to much, though he was the only one in the lab whose schedule rivaled her own. Sara sighed. She was sure if she checked the timesheet, she would find that Grissom's hours had increased as much as hers had decreased. He was always at work. She doubted he went home to do more than shower and brush his teeth, choosing to spend his leisure time locked in his office, no doubt going through the contents of Shannon Carmichael's Missing Persons file again. She knew he wasn't getting anywhere. Grissom would've been on the field, chasing down the leads if there were any leads to chase. But as it was, he camped out in his office, shouldering the burden of finding Shannon Carmichael by himself. She hadn't done much to help him since she left nightshift, save for going through the file every now and then after she tucked Brenda in and before she went to bed. But it wasn't like she was an expert when it came to finding missing people…

"Shit, my pen ran out of ink," Jack mumbled as he searched his pockets for a new pen so he could continue writing the end to his case report.

Sara handed him a pen and watched him as he scribbled his name on a document. He paused and looked up at her.

"What?"

"I need a favor…"

TBC…


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Jack and Sara sat in a booth far in the corner of a nearby diner, Shannon Carmichael's Missing Persons casefile spread out on the table between them. Jack bit into his pastrami sandwich, wiped his mouth, and continued to read. Sara clenched her napkin in her hands, ignoring the salad in front of her, instead intently focusing on his progress.

"I can't read if you keep staring at me like that," he said quietly, not bothering to look up from the file.

"Sorry," she murmured, forcing down a bite of her salad. Out of the corner of her eye, she still watched him flip through the pages and scan the information she had collected with Grissom over the past few months. Sara felt her excitement rise as Jack finished reading the last page. He had to be the missing link, the fresh pair of eyes that would find the clue she and Grissom had somehow missed.

Jack looked up from his plate and studied her for a moment. "Do you really think I'm going to tell you something you don't know?" Sara furrowed her brow and he continued, sighing a bit as he did. "There's no body, no motive, no…nothing."

Sara felt her stomach sink and her anger flare up. "Are you saying it's hopeless?"

"I'm not saying that," Jack answered quickly. "I'm just telling you -- after years of doing this -- that the likelihood of this ending remotely happily after all this time is slim."

She sat back in her seat. He was telling her nothing she hadn't told Grissom repeatedly. Sara began to wonder if her words had made Grissom feel so…low. As low as she felt now. She poked at her salad with her fork.

"Look, when someone gets reported missing, one of five things has occurred," Jack explained. "One: False alarm. That's the best scenario. Two: They're in some kind of accident and are either in a hospital or a morgue."

"We checked all of the hospitals and morgues in a hundred mile radius."

"Three," Jack continued. "The missing person was kidnapped and is being held hostage. It's very rare, but it happens."

"Elizabeth Smart," Sara said, and he nodded.

"Four: Foul play that leads to death."

She swallowed. "What's five?"

"They don't want to be found." Jack wiped his face with a napkin. "From what little I know about this case, I'd say you're looking at a Four or a Five." Sara just nodded her head. Jack raised an eyebrow. "Was this case particularly…important to you?"

"What do you --"

"Everyone has those cases," he interrupted, "the ones that keep you up at night, the ones that'll finish you if you don't finish them. Was this your case?"

She shook her head and exhaled. "Surprisingly…no. It's a…" _Friend's? Co-worker's?_

"Someone important?"

"Yeah," Sara said, feeling her face redden slightly. "I know we're looking for a body. I know we'll be lucky if we find even that much. You have no idea how many times I've said that during this investigation, over and over."

"Even so, it's never an easy thing to get used to," Jack told her. "You just have to hope the next one works out better."

She sighed and checked her watch.

"Do you have someplace to be?"

"My daughter is on a trip to the circus with her camp," Sara explained. "I'm supposed to pick her up in an hour."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "You've got a kid?"

She nodded and took a sip of her soda. Sara felt an odd sense of liberation at having told him she was a mom. She hadn't really had cause to mention the fact that she had a child to anyone. The only people she had ever spoken to about Brenda were the girl's fourth grade teacher, the social worker who was in charge of their case, the camp director, and the furniture salesmen who managed to track down Brenda's antique bedroom set.

And Grissom.

But his complete lack of interest still stung so much that Sara rarely dwelled on it. To focus on his disinterest would be to devote too much time to negative thoughts, time that would be better spent playing Monopoly with a ruthless Brenda, who took no prisoners in her quest to populate the board with her tiny red hotels. Indeed, sometimes Sara felt like she was sitting across the table from miniature Donald Trump, only with better hair.

"How old is she?"

Sara blinked, shook her head clear, and then answered him. "Nine. She'll be ten at the end of August."

"My girls are eight and twelve," Jack said, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open to reveal two very similar looking girls with long brown hair and big brown eyes.

"They're adorable," Sara smiled. She had observed enough of human interactions to know that it was her turn to reciprocate and show a picture of her kid. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Brenda's picture was saved as the background.

"She's beautiful," Jack smiled. "She looks nothing like you."

Sara laughed. "Thanks."

He made a face. "I didn't mean it that way."

"I know, I know," she said.

"Does she have a boyfriend yet?"

Sara looked up, eyes wide. "Boyfriend?"

It was Jack's turn to laugh. "Believe me, adolescence is staring earlier with each passing generation. Pretty soon babies will be born with piercings."

She cringed. "If Brenda ever came home with a tongue ring, I think I'd have a meltdown. I'm all for self-expression, but I'd rather she write poems or sculpt or do something that doesn't involve shoving pieces of metal through her skin."

Soon, both investigators were laughing, discussing the trials of parenthood and their hopes for their children's futures. Sara felt as if she had been initiated into a club. She was officially a mother now that she had commiserated with a fellow parent. Sara found she liked it. Her fears weren't just her own. They were universal. Apparently, everyone had those moments when they were unsure of themselves when it came to their children. Or, at least, everyone sitting in their booth. She didn't reveal the circumstances surrounding Brenda's introduction into her life, or even that she was adopted. Sara, more than anything, listened to Jack, guessing that he needed to share even more than she did.

"They're in Chicago now, my daughters," he said, draining his coffee cup.

"On summer vacation?"

Jack shook his head. "They're with their mother. She's a partner at a law firm there."

"So you were visiting them before you came here on this case," Sara inferred.

He nodded. "I missed Kate's dance recital."

"Oh." Sara didn't know what else to say. She took another sip of her soda and swallowed slowly and spoke again. "Why don't you go back to see her? Bring her flowers, maybe…"

Jack shrugged. "I could do that," he said noncommittally as he played with a toothpick, winding it through his fingers.

"So why don't you? On your way back to New York, take a detour and say goodbye properly," she suggested.

"Maybe…"

"_Do it_," Sara pressed.

"She'll just be mad at me for missing her recital," he argued half-heartedly.

Sara thought back to all the times she had greeted Brenda -- in the mornings, after school, after camp -- and was struck by a one similarity. "If there's one thing I learned, it's that your kid is always happy to see you. No matter what kind of day she had, no matter what kind of day you had, they always are glad you're there."

Jack gave her a small smile. "Maybe I'll swing by the Windy City on my way home." He checked his watch. "And don't you have a kid who should be happy to see you right about now?"

Sara glanced at the time. "Shit!" She got up from her seat and gathered the file, tucking it under her arm as she reached into her purse for her wallet.

He laughed at her harried search and waved his hand. "Don't worry, don't worry. I'll take care of the check. You go hear about the circus."

She smiled and thanked him quickly, wishing him luck with his own daughters before dashing out of the diner, failing to notice the patron in a another booth who had kept a pair of sad eyes on her from across the room the entire time.

TBC…


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Sara arrived as Brenda and her fellow campers exited the circus arena. The Davis Academy parents crowded around, calling out names in order to get their now over-stimulated children's attention.

"Debra! Debra, over here!"

"Jason, come on. Let's go."

"Kevin, get over here _NOW_."

She easily spotted Brenda. Her platinum hair was as good as a neon sign. Brenda seemed as adept at spotting Sara, and waved cheerfully and turned to who Sara could only assume was Norah on her right, and then Martin on her left, before pointing out into the crowded sea of parents to the still-waving CSI. The little girl ran towards her mother and began to tug her back towards her friends.

"This is Martin and this is Norah," she said, a bit breathless. "You guys, this is…uh, my mom."

Brenda had never referred to Sara as her mother before. It was always implied, but never spoken aloud. She could see how very aware Brenda was of using this new word, and how the little girl was anxiously anticipating the reaction to it.

Sara went with it, and flashed a grin to Martin and Norah. "I've heard so much about you."

She charmed the children, and they were all soon joined by Martin's mother and Norah's parents. Dr. Margaret Cheng was still in her scrubs, having just come out of surgery. She was petite and, Sara guessed, in her early fifties. Norah's mother, Peggy Oliver, was about Dr. Cheng's age and a regular Southern belle: big hair, big jewelry, big everything. She gave Sara a warm smile before talking her ear off. Dr. Cheng smiled tiredly at Sara. She had obviously been through this before with Norah's mom. On the outer edge of their little group stood Tim Oliver, a tall, rangy man with bright white hair tucked under a cowboy hat. He had tipped his hat at Sara on introduction and then let his wife take over the conversation.

"And all I've been hearing is Brenda this and Brenda that! We have to have y'all over for a barbecue!" Peggy exclaimed.

"My mom's a vegetarian," Brenda said.

"Oh, just like Norah," Peggy laughed, glancing at her daughter, who was pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and reading through her circus program. Sara smiled and nodded, remembering Brenda had told her that Norah planned to be a veterinarian and had decided to not eat meat at a very early age. Sara wondered if Brenda might make a similar choice, but she still seemed content eating meat and Sara was very adamant about letting her make up her own mind about it.

"Can Norah and Martin come over tomorrow?" Brenda asked hesitantly, looking up at Sara for permission.

"Uh, sure. If that's okay with their parents," she said, looking to Peggy and Margaret, not sure about playdate etiquette. Both women smiled and heartily said yes, and Sara slowly repeated their address to the other mothers, Dr. Cheng entering it into her PDA and Peggy scribbling it into her date book. The kids jumped around, excited.

"Do you really have a Celestron?" Martin asked giddily, referring to the telescope Sara had purchased for gazing out of the cathedral window in their library.

His mother rolled her eyes. "He's been begging for one forever."

"Well, you can take ours out for a test spin," Sara grinned.

They drove home happily. Sara was surprised how much she was anticipating Brenda having friends over. She supposed it was because it represented some sort of level of normalcy they had reached. Ordinarily, the thought of entertaining two extra children would have been daunting, but Sara felt up to the task. She had a smile on her face as she tucked Brenda in.

"Is it okay that I called you 'Mom'?"

Sara gave her a kiss on the forehead. "More than okay."

Early Saturday morning, they went to the supermarket and stocked up on food. Brenda jumped up an down the aisles as if springs had been glued to the soles of her shoes. She was ecstatic. Sara just smiled as the little girl bounced around, wondering aloud what her friends were up to at that very moment while she tossed Oreos into the cart.

They made their way home, unpacked the groceries, and proceeded to welcome their guests. Brenda seemed a little shy at first. Sara knew that while she had hardly spent any time alone during the past five years, Brenda hadn't spent any time entertaining. But before Sara could do no more than worry, the kids made their way to the pool and began taking turns doing cannonballs off of the diving board. They giggled and shouted and splashed, and she soon joined them on the patio, bringing along a book so she could keep an eye on them without interfering.

The kids, soggy and hungry, sopped into the kitchen and, once they dried off with some towels, began to construct pizzas with the dough Sara and Brenda had purchased earlier that morning. Norah, the vegetarian, piled the different color peppers Sara sliced up for her on her pizza. Martin slathered his in cheese, while Brenda stuck with pepperoni. They ate, waited the ubiquitous half hour to avoid any cramps, reapplied their sunscreen and then dove back into the pool where they stayed until it was dark enough to check out the sky through the telescope. When the time came for Martin and Norah's parents to pick them up, the children didn't want to leave. They begged to stay, and Sara took this as a good sign, promising that they'd get together soon. Brenda was euphoric as she got ready for bed; the look on her face was one of complete bliss as she fell onto the mattress, eagerly anticipating the next time she'd see her friends.

Brenda didn't have to wait long. Peggy Oliver called early the next morning and invited mother and daughter to an impromptu barbeque. Sara's eyes widened when she realized she was expected to tag along with Brenda to her friend's house. Though she wanted badly to make an excuse so she could bow out of going, Sara swallowed hard and accepted the invitation just as Brenda trudged sleepily to the kitchen for breakfast. The news of the barbeque woke her up, dissolving the sleepiness from her body, and she gustily ate her waffles. She spent the remainder of the morning on a floating raft in the middle of the pool, thumbing through a book. Her mother, however, was not so relaxed. Sara watered the plants on the screened-in patio, biting her nails as she shifted the watering can from one hand to another. She couldn't remember the last time she had been to a barbeque. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been anywhere. Social calls were few and far between for the CSI. She had gone out for beer a few times with the friends she had made at work, but they'd always end up talking about the latest case, so instead of saying anything personal, it was like a continuation of the job. A barbeque with strangers meant questions: _Are you divorced? Where is Brenda's father? Do you have a boyfriend? Why not? _Sara cringed at the thought of being interrogated. Peggy Oliver seemed nice and very well-intentioned, but Sara was wary. At times like these, she truly understood why Grissom preferred to shut himself off from the world.

But as Brenda climbed out of the pool and onto the diving board, belly flopping onto the water and soaking a nearby Sara with a magnificent splash, she knew why she had to make the effort.

They arrived at the Oliver's ranch at three in the afternoon with a chocolate cake in tow. Peggy greeted them warmly and introduced Sara to the rest of the Oliver family while Brenda and Norah ran off to the stables to see Norah's pregnant mare. What Sara had thought would be a small gathering was a real family affair. Tim Oliver's three grown sons were there, the two older ones with their wives and children. The youngest, TJ, was not quite thirty and reminded Sara of Nick, with his Texan drawl and easy smile. He was quite tall, and had green eyes that Sara could only describe as lovely -- the color she'd like to paint her home office.

There was plenty of food fit for a vegetarian, so Sara didn't go hungry. The children played happily, and though Sara was asked many questions about her opinions on legalized gambling and the war in Iraq, the Oliver family didn't pry into her private life. They were content enough with the fact that Sara Sidle was a nice person. Norah and Brenda rode horses on the far edge of the property while Sara watched. TJ tried his best to convince Sara to take a ride on one, too, but she assured him she was happy to say on the ground.

"That little girl of yours is a sweetheart," he said, his twang making the words all the more charming.

Sara laughed. "Thanks. I think so, too."

Tim Oliver finished off the night with fireworks. The children oohed and ahhed at the display and the quiet man who had said so little that evening smiled widely.

Sara could see Brenda was getting sleepy and hoisted her up on her hip. "I think it's time to go."

"Noooo," Brenda mumbled.

"Yes."

"I really like horses," she sighed, closing her eyes.

TJ came up behind Sara an assured Brenda that she'd be welcome at the ranch any time she liked.

"Thanks," she said before nodding off.

Sara smiled. "I'm going to get going." She said her goodbyes, thanking the family for a lovely evening, and packed her little girl into the car.

Over the next couple of weeks, the Sidle household entertained Brenda's friends several times, and Martin and Norah returned the favor. Sara would pick Brenda up from either the Cheng's or the Oliver's, ready to hear about the adventures of the three children as they watched Norah's foal being born or melted a slug with some salt at Martin's house.

"It was _gross_," Brenda intoned, quite giddy.

"I can imagine," Sara grimaced as she watched Brenda skip happily to her room to research slugs on the internet.

It was smooth sailing, save for one rough spot when Brenda got a stomach bug. Late one Friday night, she woke Sara up and complained of stomach pain. She was sweaty and feverous, and they rushed to Sara's bathroom in time for her to vomit the contents of her dinner into the toilet. There they stayed, camped out on the cool marble floor with some pillows and blankets. Brenda's vomiting persisted throughout the following day, worrying Sara enough for a visit to the pediatrician. They raced to the doctor's office where they were assured it was just a stomach virus that would pass soon enough. The pediatrician recommended plenty of electrolytes and lots of rest, and Sara was determined to follow his orders. They returned home extremely tired. Neither had slept in hours, but Brenda's illness persisted and they were forced to keep constant vigil by the toilet.

But by Sunday afternoon, as the doctor had predicted, Brenda began to feel better. She was able to keep down some dry toast and tea. After her light snack, Sara tucked her into bed before showering off two days worth of dirt, sweat, and the occasional splatter of vomit that missed the toilet. She fell into bed and didn't wake up until morning.

Brenda had insisted on going to camp, but Sara was loathe to take any chances.

"You just spent the entire weekend sick to your stomach. No camp," she said firmly.

"_Please_, Mom" Brenda whined.

It took a moment for Sara to register the 'Mom' part, but she stood her ground. "No." She picked up the phone and called her boss to tell him she wouldn't be in to work today while Brenda sulked off to her room.

Over the past several months, Sara had encountered many firsts. Adopting Brenda, buying a house, moving to dayshift…every step she took seemed like a new one. And as she sunk down onto her bed, Sara had to add another first onto the list: she and Brenda were having their first disagreement. Since she started mentoring Brenda, Sara had noticed that the little girl had agreed with her on practically everything, was always eager to please, and quite terrified of disappointing the woman she had come to respect so much. Having never received a cross word from Brenda, nor having ever had to scold her for anything, Sara was unaccustomed to the idea of any sort of disagreement between them. She knew that it was, on one hand, a milestone for Brenda. The little girl felt secure enough in her relationship with her new mother to voice her wants; she no longer feared giving her opinion, even if she knew it was the opposite of Sara's. A voice in her head kept reminding Sara that it was an achievement to reach such a step so soon, and that Brenda was just being a kid. But another part of Sara was dismayed at the tiny rift in their relationship. She was not used to Brenda being unhappy with her. In fact, Sara had grown so accustomed to finally having someone be always happy to be around her that it hurt all the more to know that it wasn't the case any more. She felt a tear slide down her cheek and berated herself for being so silly. Brenda would go to camp the next day and all would be forgotten.

But still…it hurt.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sara caught the glint of Brenda's pale hair in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," Brenda sniffled, looking at her feet.

"Come over here," Sara said.

Brenda slowly walked over to where Sara was sitting, looking fearful once more until she was pulled into a hug.

"I'm sorry," the little girl repeated.

"It's okay," Sara whispered, shocked at how emotional she was. She willed herself to be calm, knowing a crazy display of emotion would freak Brenda out, making her think she had done something wrong. Sara sat the little girl next to her and slowly explained her reasons for keeping Brenda home one extra day. "I don't want you getting sick again. I know you're feeling better, but…I'm not used to taking care of someone, Brenda. I want to be extra careful. Okay? And after seeing you throw up everything you ever ate over the course of two days," she continued animatedly while Brenda giggled, "I figured it would be safer to have you rest one more day."

"I understand."

"But I have to tell you something and this is the most important thing I could ever tell you: It's okay to tell me when you're not happy. It's okay to complain or whine or moan about this or that," she continued. "that's what I'm here for. That's my job. And I may not always be good at it, but I'm trying. And you have to help be my telling me what you need, and what you like and don't like. We're a team."

Brenda nodded and rested her head on Sara's arm.

"So…are you up for some toast?"

"Can I have jam on it this time?" she asked, moaning theatrically and making her mother laugh.

"_Okaaaaaay_," Sara whined back, and they continued their complaining -- periodically broken up by peals of laughter -- for the remainder of the morning.

By lunchtime they had watched two different movies about kids trapped in adult bodies -- both of them preferred Tom Hanks' portrayal over Jennifer Garner's version -- and played a rousing game of Scrabble. "I've gotta learn some new words," Brenda mumbled as she checked out her tiles.

Cabin fever was starting to set in. They had spent almost all of the last three days indoors, save for a trip to the doctor. As Brenda cleaned off the Scrabble board, preparing for a new game, Sara eyed her intently.

"You finished that _Harry Potter _book on Thursday, right?"

"Yeah, the fifth one," Brenda answered glumly.

"Wasn't it good?"

"It was sad. It was good, too. But mostly sad," she answered.

"So…are you finished with those books?" Sara asked.

"There's one more that's out now," Brenda told her, shaking up the bag of tiled letters to mix them up.

"Okay, let's get it."

"Huh?"

Sara shrugged. "If you're feeling up to it, we can go to the bookstore now and pick it up."

Brenda's eyes widened. "I'll go get dressed." Sara watched her sprint off to her room. The little girl was ready at lightening speed, running out the front door to wait dutifully by the car while Sara locked up.

Brenda could barely sit still in the backseat of the car as they drove to the bookstore. "I can't wait!" she said gleefully. "Now I'll finally get to talk about it with Norah and Martin. They said it was _soooooo good_."

Sara laughed. "Hey, camp is almost over, right?"

"August 15th. There's going to be a Parents' Day and carnival that night," Brenda explained. "Are you going to come?"

"Of course! And I start my vacation time around then. We'll have two weeks to hang out together."

"Cool! Martin is going to visit his sister in Boston and Norah is going to see her mom's family in Texas when camp ends."

Sara thought for a moment as she pulled into a parking space. "Do you want to go on vacation somewhere?"

"I…really? Can we?"

"After we pick up your book, we can head to the travel books section and check out some destinations."

"_Cool_," she said, taking Sara's hand as they walked into the crisp, air conditioned store. The large stack of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince _books was their first stop. Brenda hugged her copy to her chest as if it were a child. "I can't believe I finally have it!"

"O…_kay_," Sara said. "You must really like those books, huh?"

"I _love _them. You have to read them, too, Mom. _Harry Potter _is the _best_."

They walked to the travel section and scoped out the various books for sale, considering each destination. "Before you say you want to go to England to see where Harry Potter flies his broom, we have to go somewhere in the United States," Sara explained. "You don't have a passport yet, and it's probably too late to get one before we have to leave. We can plan a foreign trip later."

Brenda nodded and focused in on the domestic section, with guidebooks for cities like Honolulu and Seattle and Los Angeles and Miami. "There are so many places to go…"

"Well, do you want to go someplace warm, like Miami, where there are beaches? Or do you want to go somewhere with historical significance, like Mount Rushmore in South Dakota? We could go to Orlando and see Disney World."

Brenda's eyes suddenly went wide. "In the movie _Big_, where's the toy store with the piano on the floor that you can play with your feet?"

"New York."

"Let's go there."

Sara rolled her eyes -- not at the destination, but at the fact that it was chosen because it housed a piano you could play with your feet. "Alright, New York it is." They found a large book on the city and skimmed through it.

"Wow, I didn't know the Statue of Liberty was in New York."

"Well, that'll be our second stop after the piano."

"I bet I could play something on that," Brenda said, flipping through more pages. Sara knew she had been enjoying her piano lessons at camp. She had bought a keyboard for Brenda to practice on at home, and the little girl was certainly showing promise. She had tried in vain to teach her mother "Mary Had A Little Lamb," but Sara was hopeless when it came to music.

She smiled. "We'll have to videotape you playing a song on the…" Her words drifted off. Sara could feel him. She didn't even have to look to know he was there. But there he was, far down the aisle, twenty feet from where she and Brenda stood. Grissom hadn't noticed her yet, or at least she assumed he hadn't, because he was still intently browsing the selection of books on the shelf in front of him. Sara couldn't help but stare, and soon, as if he could sense her presence the same as had she sensed his, he locked gazes with her. Grissom's mouth fell open for a moment before he closed it promptly. His eyes were wide, his expression one of surprise instead of the coldness she had expected. She tilted her head and examined him, feeling a wave of sadness. She missed him.

"Mom, let's go! Let's go!" Brenda said, completely oblivious to what was going on between the adults twenty feet apart. She tugged Sara's hand as she hefted her two large books under one arm. Sara could see Grissom fix his stare on the little girl and immediately all feelings she felt for him drained from her body as she once again remembered their last encounter. She had half-expected some sort of act of reconciliation on his part, had become accustomed to them over the years. When he upset her, Grissom would usually attempt to smooth things over with a compliment, or, on one occasion, a plant. They rarely completely made up for his mistakes, but they somehow made Sara feel better. They let her know that he cared. But, as he made it so abundantly clear to her on her last nights working for him, he had nothing more to say to her.

Sara looked down at Brenda and squeezed her hand tight. "Let's go home."

TBC…


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Maps and brochures were spread out all over the dining room table. When she was not reading the newest installment of _Harry Potter_, Brenda was memorizing the New York City subway system and planning their itinerary for their weeklong vacation. Sara had booked a suite at The Plaza, the hotel where a character from one of Brenda's books lived. It was expensive, but it was right by the park, and the luxury would be a new experience for both of them. When traveling on business, the county had put Sara up in the cheapest hotels the budget would allow, and the last time she had gone anywhere for fun, she remembered being crammed in a room with several other college students, sharing the small space to drive down their Spring Break costs.

This time, she'd sleep in her own bed, in her own room. Brenda would have a bedroom to herself. They could get room service instead of having to rely on food from vending machines because a case had her working late and there were no places open in Bumfuck, McNowheresville to get a bite to eat.

"There's a zoo in the park!" Brenda exclaimed as she read about Central Park in a tour book. "Can we go?"

"Sure," Sara said, smiling. "We'll be in New York for your birthday," she reminded the little girl. "Maybe we can do something special." She dug through the pile of papers in front of her. "I think that movie you like -- what is it called? _The Lion King_? I think it's a Broadway show."

"What's a Broadway show?"

"It's sort of like a play. They act out the story in front of you," Sara explained.

"So will there be real lions?" Brenda asked, excited at the prospect.

"Uh…I don't think so." Sara located the information she had printed out on the different musicals suitable for children. "Nope," she said, reading the description of the show. "No real lions."

"Aw," Brenda said. "I guess I can see the real lions at the zoo."

Sara laughed. "I guess you can."

They spent the remainder of the week planning their trip, buying suitcases and little accessories to take along with them, and generally psyching themselves up for the experience. Because Brenda would be away from her friends for the next few weeks after camp ended, the children had conspired together to have one last hurrah. They convinced Norah's father to let them tag along for the weekend on his annual fishing trip. "So long as they eat what we catch," he told Sara and Dr. Cheng when they picked their kids up at the Oliver ranch after a get together.

The mothers settled on dropping Martin and Brenda off with Tim and Peggy that Friday afternoon directly after camp, thanking the Olivers for their hospitality while the three children gleefully jumped up and down. "And Dad will teach us how to play poker!" Sara heard Norah whisper to Brenda and Martin.

Sara could only laugh at the thought of Brenda playing poker. She was a ruthless competitor when she wanted to be, and a keen observer to boot. There was no doubt she'd clean up at the poker table.

So Friday afternoon, when she dropped her little girl off for a vacation before a vacation, Sara found herself alone for the first time in a long time. She decided against going home straight away, choosing to run errands instead of returing to an empty house. It wouldn't seem like home, she knew, because there was no one to come home to. Sara was struck by how stark the loneliness was. She had gotten so used to having Brenda there that the sudden prospect of her not being around -- if only for a weekend -- was surprisingly scary.

She clenched and unclenched the steering wheel, shaking her head. She would just have to make due without Brenda for two days.

She picked up her dry cleaning and swung by Social Services to clear up any loose ends that taking Brenda out of the state might entail. As per the adoption agreement, Brenda's social worker, Beth Reynolds, was required to conduct follow-up visits for up to six months after the adoption took place. Though Sara knew it was completely legal to take Brenda on a trip, she decided to take extra care in letting the social worker in on their plans for vacation.

"Well, you certainly do your homework," Mrs. Reynolds said, impressed that Sara had thought to bring copies of their plane tickets and the number of the hotel in New York if they needed to be reached.

"I try," Sara said, smiling nervously. She wanted everything to go off without a hitch.

"I must say," Reynolds continued, "that this match has been such a pleasant surprise. Brenda has blossomed under your care."

"Thank you."

"She really is a very lucky girl. Your boss was right."

Sara's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Your boss. He sent that wonderful letter of reference for you," the older woman smiled. "You were already on track for approval, but such endorsement doesn't hurt at all."

Sara felt her stomach drop. A letter of reference? From her boss? She knew it couldn't be Henry Woo. He had arrived after she had been approved for adoption. And it wasn't Ecklie. Even if he knew, he wouldn't have cared enough to go out of his way to help. No, it had to be…

"Uh, could you, by any chance, make me an extra copy?" Sara asked, giving the social worker a wide, fake smile. "I seem to have misplaced my copy when I moved."

"Oh, of course. By all means," Mrs. Reynolds said, flipping through her file on Brenda. She extracted a piece of paper from the manila folder and carried it to the Xerox machine. "It really was a lovely letter," she sing-songed. "I tell you, the more years I live, the more I appreciate hearing the good in the world." The copier whirred loudly and then came to a stop. Beth Reynolds handed Sara the paper. "Dr. Grissom obviously thinks very highly of you."

The letter felt so heavy in Sara's hands. She couldn't bear to look at the photocopied words. She was shaking, and before the social worker could comment on the CSI's reaction, the busy woman was distracted by the ring of her telephone. Sara jumped up, holding the letter to her chest, and then gave Mrs. Reynolds a tight smile, begging her leave. She numbly walked to her car, settling into the driver's seat and taking a deep breath before allowing herself to read what was in her hands.

She squeezed her eyes shut after recognizing the date on the letter: one day after she broke the news to Grissom. Sara felt her stomach churn. She swallowed the lump in her throat and read on.

__

To Whom It May Concern,

It has been brought to my attention that Miss Sara Sidle has petitioned to adopt Brenda Collins, a minor who has been in the custody of the state for more than five years. Having worked with Miss Sidle for the same period of time, and having known her for twice as long, I find myself compelled to write to you to extol the virtues of my co-worker and my friend. No doubt, having met her and evaluated her to the rigorous standards of your department, the approval committee is well aware of Sara's many qualities that recommend her, of her strong character, and of her unceasing will to do good. These features were evident to me on first meeting, and have only deepened my regard for her over time.

I was the lead criminalist working to solve the murder of Brenda Collins' family, and I assigned Sara to care for Brenda throughout the investigation. Her dedication to the case and to Brenda helped to speedily bring it to a close, and I believe she aided in preventing any more severe trauma from inflicting Brenda during the investigation. Sara prizes her intelligence, but it is her compassion that makes her so special, that has made her so vital to the success of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. That compassion, when applied to motherhood, can only produce results more stellar. Sara is a uniquely caring person, and any child placed in her care will be lucky to call her their mother.

It has been, by far and away, my privilege to know Sara Sidle.

Sincerely,

Gil Grissom

Sara could feel the tears flow down her cheeks. The small droplets scattered onto the sheet of paper. His words, of which he had so little over the years, had undone her. Pain coursed through her body as she remembered their encounters after their fight at Shannon Carmichael's apartment. The demeanor she once thought to be cold and disapproving was revealed by the letter to be quite the opposite. Grissom had stayed away from her during her last days on nightshift not because he was angry, not because he didn't want her to adopt Brenda, but perhaps because he was being Grissom, and hiding is what Grissom did best. The look on his face at the bookstore wasn't full of the malice she had suspected, but honest surprise.

"Oh, I'm an asshole," Sara muttered to herself, resting her head on the steering wheel. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and then put the key in the ignition.

She had to see him.

There was no question in her mind. She had to thank him. Sara knew that thanking him would only serve to make him uncomfortable, but she didn't care as she made her way to his house. She was full of gratitude and guilt, an uneasy combination. He had to know that his words had touched her, that what he had to say mattered to her.

Sara hastily parked her car and bounded up the steps to his front door, silently praying he wasn't at work so she wouldn't have to embarrass him in front of all of their colleagues. She knocked on the door hard, and then noticed the bell and pressed it several times urgently. She could hear footsteps shuffle up to the door.

The shock on Grissom's face was evident. He looked so…adorable. His hair was a bit messy and he was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. His feet were bare. If they were in a movie, Sara knew that would be the point where she would throw herself at him, where she would hug him and kiss him and thank him for everything. The skies would open up, the birds would sing, and they'd live happily ever after.

But this was not a movie.

"What are you doing here?"

"I read the letter."

Grissom pressed his lips together.

"I-I-I…I wanted to thank you," Sara said breathlessly. "That was…I just…thank you. It, uh, means a lot to me."

"You're welcome."

She had more to say, but her mouth wasn't working correctly. "I…I-I'm sorry about…" Sara's words tapered off as Grissom's phone began to ring.

He seemed content to ignore it, but when she stopped talking, he sighed and walked over to pick it up. "Grissom."

Sara watched him, finally feeling the shock of seeing Gil Grissom dressed so…casually. She had burst in on him while he was most likely sleeping, and had stammered through an apology that lacked any of the eloquence of his letter. His shoulders fell ever so slightly, and the tone of his voice changed.

"I'll be there."

He hung up and turned to face Sara, and she knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"They found Shannon Carmichael's body."

TBC…


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

They body was barely identifiable. It was human, for sure. And female. But the once long blonde hair was now the color of the mud found at the bottom of the small stream at the base of the mountains. The formerly tanned skin was pale and bloated, half eaten away by all manner of creatures surviving in the ecosystem of the dump site.

"There's the 'S,'" Grissom murmured, referring to the small gold letter on a chain around the corpse's throat, the same one that Shannon had worn in her museum ID tag and driver's license photo.

"We'll need to compare DNA to be sure—"

"It's her," he said quietly, confidently. Sadly. Sara wanted to ask him – then and there – why he was so sure. She wanted to ask him why Shannon mattered so much, why he was dedicated to this case to a degree that she had never seen in him. But Sara wasn't one to kick someone when they were down. Grissom looked as if his knees were barely able to support his weight, let alone the weight of question after question regarding his behavior over the past few months.

They spent the remainder of an unseasonably cold summer night combing the banks of the shallow stream for clues. Sara said nothing, choosing instead to hunker down and focus on her search on the off chance she would discover something. Shannon's body would likely be little aid in the investigation. Dr. Robbins, who had ventured out of the morgue as a favor to his friend, told her as much when Grissom was out of earshot. "Any trace of semen – if there was semen to be found – is probably gone," he said, frowning at what was left of Shannon's body cavity as it was zipped up into a black bag. The elements and the animals had done a number on her. Any trace fibers or fingerprints were lost or destroyed by the flow of the stream, which had no doubt sped up the process of decomposition. "I'll double-check the weather patterns of this area in the recent months," the coroner said as he got into his van, "but placing T.O.D. is going to be difficult." On that solemn note, he departed, leaving the CSIs alone to their work.

The sun was rising early Saturday morning by the time they had covered every inch of the tiny shoreline. Had she been working with anybody else, Sara would have suggested they go back to the lab and process the body hours ago, but it was the body that she was dreading. Or, rather, having to witness Grissom process the body. He was obsessed with the case, consumed by it. And when the case that had swallowed Grissom whole finally came to an end, Sara feared what would happen to the man who currently resided in the belly of it all. She was afraid a large part of him would be buried along with Shannon. Sara squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to ward off further dangerous thoughts.

"Oh, you must be tired," Grissom said suddenly. "I forgot that you sleep nights now."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, and bent down again to continue staring at the same spot which had been combed over at least twice by each CSI, but Grissom was already standing up, stretching his legs.

"We should get you something to eat," he said quietly as he removed his gloves and placed them in a tagged, manila envelope.

"No, really, I'm fine. I can stay—"

"We'll pick you up something on the way to the lab."

He was already halfway to his SUV when Sara realized arguing was fruitless. She quickly packed up her field kit and loaded it into the trunk of her car. He took her breakfast order and she followed him on the route to the lab, stopping only to pick up their food. Sara had expected him to hand her a bagel and then retreat into his office so he could study the pictures of crime scene alone and in peace, but Grissom instead ushered her to a small conference room and closed the door behind them. She watched him empty the contents of a large paper bag one by one onto the polished wooden surface of the table before taking a seat next to her.

"Um…thank you," she said softly as she unwrapped her breakfast.

"I got you some coffee – light with one sugar – and a muffin, in case you were still hungry."

"Thank you," Sara repeated, trying to get used to Grissom's new, timid demeanor. On any other case, he would have breezed through the hours and those working with him would live off of what was in the vending machines on the second floor of the building rather than break his rhythm.

"How are…things?" he asked as she took her first bite into a large plain bagel.

She knew exactly what – and _who_ – Grissom was referring to. Sara silently chewed, buying time to think of an answer. She wiped a bit of strawberry cream cheese off the corner of her mouth and then swallowed. "Um…good. Things are going…good."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"How is…Brenda? Is she…I mean, the last time I saw her she was…well…how is she?" He cleared his throat and stared at his breakfast.

"She's doing really well."

Grissom nodded, but continued to stare down at his food.

Sara felt her stomach sink and her heart break. He was trying so hard. The man was running on empty, but still cared enough to try. She remembered the letter he wrote and willed herself to continue. "Brenda…she, uh, loves to read. Everything and anything. I couldn't figure out how to work the TiVo but she read the instruction manual and had it working before I could call Customer Service. Now we've got, like, twenty episodes of _Iron Chef_ saved."

He gave her a small, half smile and then went back to staring at his bagel.

"She's, uh…a good kid."

Grissom's mouth moved to curve into another small smile when his lips suddenly pursed and his eyes narrowed. He turned his head quickly to look at Sara. "Who's with Brenda now? You've been with me for the past fifteen hours."

"Fishing trip," she answered quickly. "With her friends."

"Brenda fishes?"

"We'll see."

"Is she a vegetarian, like you?"

"Uh…nope."

He tilted his head. "Does that bother you?"

"Not at all."

"Oh."

They finished their breakfast quietly. Sara stole glances at Grissom, but he did nothing more than eat his food. After they cleaned off the table and threw away the trash, they slowly made their way to the morgue. It was hard to believe that the search for Shannon Carmichael was over. They had both spent countless hours immersed in finding the woman, had dedicated much of their time to learning everything they could about her. Sara was sure Grissom knew the exact page Shannon could be found in her high school yearbook, was sure he knew about her allergy to peanuts, and the fact that she alphabetized the spices in her spice rack. Now all of those details were for naught; they would only fester in his brain now that Shannon was dead. Sara knew what that was like. She knew what it was like to know the facts of a case cold, to know the victim better than she knew herself, only to have the rug pulled out from under her. The few times that happened, it was Grissom's presence that kept her from falling headlong into the abyss. He wouldn't do much – that wasn't his style – but just being there had helped her. He always seemed to sense her distress in those cases and – consciously or unconsciously – kept close to her for the following weeks. Sara immediately felt a surge of guilt, for she could not do the same for Grissom once they wrapped up Shannon's case. She would go back to dayshift and he would continue to work nights, and though they seemed to be on speaking terms once more, Sara didn't feel that was enough to keep Grissom from sinking further into the void.

Dr. Albert Robbins wasn't a stupid man. He had graduated high school a full two years early, and had finished college in six semesters. He finished second in his class in medical school and had been married for thirty-two years to a very astute woman. He raised three kids and taught his dog to fetch the morning paper. Dr. Albert Robbins spent his days with the dead, but it did not mean he couldn't read the living. He was fully aware that what was left of the body that was currently on his slab was no ordinary victim for his friend and colleague. No, Shannon Carmichael mattered to Grissom in a way that no co-worker could completely understand, but everyone respected it and treated the matter as delicately as they possibly could. Upon walking into the morgue, Sara immediately spotted the crisp white sheet draped over Shannon's body, covering her from the neck down. No other body was out. Shannon Carmichael was the sole focus of the coroner's attention, the only dead person in Las Vegas.

Robbins gave the rundown of what was approaching the fourteenth hour of the autopsy. Dental X-rays proved the body before them was Shannon, and DNA was currently being compared in the lab to confirm that. "She was dead when she hit the water," he stated matter-of-factly. "All of the abrasions on her body were post-mortem."

Grissom seemed unable or unwilling to speak, so Sara took over. "What was the cause of death?"

"Suffocation."

"Any indication of sexual assault?" she asked, swallowing hard.

"If there was a sexual assault…I, uh, found nothing overt."

Sara nodded, taking the preliminary autopsy report from the coroner's hand. As she studied it along with the crime scene photos in the layout room, it was becoming more and more evident that the murder of Shannon Carmichael would be tacked onto the Fish Board in Grissom's office where all of the nightshift's unsolved crimes went. As the day wore on, she attempted in vain to discuss the case with Grissom, but all she would get were monosyllabic answers and then he'd be back concentrating on Dr. Robbins' report. He was so lost in the words, the details of Shannon's death, that Sara was quite sure she could leave the room, go home and take a nap, and he would fail to notice. Indeed, fatigue was beginning to settle in. She had been up for over twenty-four hours, something quite common for the CSI six months ago, but adopting Brenda had changed Sara's sleeping patterns drastically. For the first time in her life, she was on a schedule. She couldn't stay at work all day and night and then stumble home to sleep a handful of hours before returning to the lab. Now there was a child to consider, and those considerations included taking better care of herself, sleeping more than two hours a night and eating healthily. The sudden disruption of all of this was a bit jarring, and as the sun began to set in Las Vegas, Sara found herself craving sleep, but she dared not leave Grissom's side. There was no Brenda at home waiting for her. It was the least she could do for him.

Just as she made that vow to herself to continue her work, he checked his watch, sat up straight and turned his head to her. "You need to go home."

"Excuse me?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"How many hours have you been up?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I can keep working."

"No, Sara—"

He was interrupted by the harsh trill of her cell phone. She quickly looked at the display screen, expecting to see Brass' number, or perhaps Robbins in the morgue, and was surprised to see Peggy Oliver's cell number instead. Frowning, she flipped open the phone and answered the call.

"_Sara_," came the urgent twang from the other line, "I'm glad you answered. We're on our way to the hospital."

Fear seemed to grip the CSI along her entire body, encasing her until she could scarcely eek out a response. "What's wrong?"

"Tim was filleting one of the fish that the children caught and accidentally cut himself. He's got a big ol' gash in the middle of his palm," Peggy explained breathlessly. "We're in the car on the way to the hospital now."

"Oh," Sara said, not quite ready to give a sigh of relief. Norah's mother didn't seem finished.

"And – she's fine now – but Brenda…she fainted," Peggy said. "I guess she was a bit frightened of the blood, but, uh…well, she came to right away."

Sara could feel her stomach in her throat. "Can I speak to her?"

"I'll give her my phone, but…she doesn't seem to be talking. The poor thing," Peggy added before Sara heard the shuffle of the phone being handed to Brenda.

"Brenda!" she shouted into the receiver. "Are you okay?"

"Yes."

The tone of Brenda's answer sent a chill down Sara's spine, for it was as detached as the answers she had been receiving all night from the man sitting beside her. No, Brenda was not okay.

TBC…

A/N #1: Chicklit, I got your review about twenty minutes after I realized the same thing. I was walking home and had to change my route to accommodate a parade on Sixth Avenue and I found myself next to, like, a giant crane. So, for those traveling to New York…stay at the Waldorf.

A/N #2: Someone mentioned the fact that Brenda is a child of incest but is not suffering from any health problems in this story. Overwhelmingly, children of incest suffer from emotional damage rather than physical defects as a result of their concentrated gene pool. Had we learned of a history of incest in the episode _Blood Drops_, it would make sense for her to have a physical health problem in addition to suffering mentally/emotionally. If Brenda's father was, say, a hemophiliac and passed that trait to his older daughter Tina (Brenda's biological mother) so that Tina carried the gene, the likelihood of Brenda being a hemophiliac herself would be about 50. But, uh…I don't want to get into all of that. Why? I'm L-A-Z-Y.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

The two-hour drive North took Sara an hour and twenty minutes, and as she sped through the Nevada desert, her mind bounced back and forth between guilt and fear. She feared for Brenda and felt guilty for leaving Grissom. He was very understanding, even worried for her, offering to drive Sara to the hospital. She declined immediately, thanked him, and then regretfully left him alone. He nodded and slumped his shoulders, returning to the autopsy report in front of them.

"I hope Brenda is okay," he said quietly, shuffling the papers on the table.

She had paused at the doorway just then, taking in his sad form. "Thank you."

She left him there knowing his world was somehow crumbling, but knowing that her child had to come first. For the past five years – ever since she came to Vegas at Grissom's request – he had been the most important person in her life. Even when they were on bad terms, even when she was dating Hank or when he had passed her over for the promotion, if he needed her, she'd be right there with him. But as she gripped the steering wheel of her car, the fatigue of the past two days forgotten, Sara knew that Grissom could no longer be the most important person in her life. She was now responsible for another life, a duty she took seriously.

The rural hospital was quite empty when Sara arrived. Tim Oliver sat in the waiting room with Norah and Martin who each had a look of sleepy concern for their friend this late hour. Tim stood up to greet Sara, and she could see the bandage on his hand. "They're just through there," he said, using his good hand to point towards the row of beds hidden behind curtains.

Brenda was sitting on a chair completely stone-faced while a doctor took her blood pressure. She sucked in her breath upon seeing her mother and bolted out of her chair, tearing the stethoscope from the doctor's ears.

"Sorry about that," Sara murmured to the young physician as she lifted Brenda up into her arms. The little girl clung tight and Peggy Oliver looked on, emotion flooding her face.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with her _physically_," the doctor said, rubbing his ears and removing the blood pressure gauge from Brenda's arm. "She just had a bit of a scare, that's all. My wife responds the same way to snakes." With that, he left the small, curtained area.

"I'm so sorry," Peggy said softly, trying not to disturb Brenda. "I don't know what happened."

"It's alright," Sara said, assuring the woman. She felt sorry for Peggy who so obviously though she was at fault for what happened, seeing how Brenda was under her care. "How's your husband's hand? I forgot to ask him..."

"Oh, he's fine," Peggy said. "A few stitches and he's as good as new."

Sara gave her a small smile.

"Do you guys need anything?" Peggy asked. "You're welcome to stay with us. There's more than enough room at our cabin."

Brenda, whose head was buried in Sara's shoulder, squeezed her arms tighter around her mother's neck in silent protest. "Um…I think we'll head home actually."

The older woman nodded, touched Brenda's shoulder softly and whispered goodbye to the little girl, and then went off to find her husband. Sara stayed in the same spot for a few minutes, swaying gently. "Let's go home."

She had expected Brenda to drift off into sleep during the two-hour ride home, but the little girl's glassy eyes stayed trained on the window. Sara dared not begin a discussion in the car. What they needed to talk about merited every ounce of attention she could devote to it, and the little girl did not seem up to rehashing her reaction to another bloody knife yet. They walked slowly to their front door with Brenda quiet as ever. Once inside, the little girl made a beeline for her room and Sara had to hurry to keep up with her.

"Brenda…"

She was sitting at her desk, staring straight ahead into her blank computer screen. "I don't want to talk about it." Her words were slow and measured, and she spoke them with a deadly tone. For the first time in a long time, Sara didn't see Brenda as a sweet-natured little girl but as the survivor that she was, the battle-scarred, wounded soldier who had seen much too much to talk about. And with that realization, Sara knew at once how to approach Brenda: not as her mother, but as a fellow veteran.

She walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Brenda, I know –"

"_No, you don't_!"

Sara backed away momentarily, her eyes wide with shock.

"I'm not _normal_!" Brenda screamed, her hands balled into white fists. "I'm not _like_ all the other kids." The tears began to fall, but the anger failed to dissipate. "I try to be, but…" She wiped her wet cheek and continued to cry. "I'll never be normal."

Sara kneeled down so that she was at eye-level to the now weeping girl. She wanted to hug and soothe and tell Brenda that everything was going to be alright, but this wasn't a scraped knee or a stomach virus. "Brenda, I need to talk to you about…my life…when I was a little girl."

Brenda raised her head and Sara knew she had captured her attention. She drew in a breath and began. "My mom's name was Laura and my dad's name was Tim."

"Like Norah's father."

"Yeah," Sara sighed. "Only my dad…he wasn't a very nice man. He and my mom used to fight a lot. When I was little, I thought that was normal. I thought everybody's parents fought like that. It was normal for me to go with my mom to the Emergency Room because she'd have a really bad black eye or a broken collarbone."

"He hit her?"

"A lot," Sara nodded. "And she hit him. But he was bigger than she was, and he usually did more damage. Usually. And then one morning when I was a little bit older than you, they had their last fight. I was making my lunch for school when they started arguing in the kitchen," she continued, feeling sick from the memory.

"What were they fighting about?" Brenda asked quietly.

Sara shook her head. "You know, I don't even remember," she sighed. "Where was I?"

"You were making lunch for school."

"Oh, yes. I was cutting the crust off of my bologna sandwich. I remember putting the knife down and wrapping the sandwich up. Sometime in between cutting the crusts and putting the bologna sandwich in my lunch bag, my dad hit my mom and my mom…grabbed the knife."

Brenda's mouth formed an 'O' as she stared at Sara who just shrugged. "Somehow, the fight moved into the bedroom and she killed him there. She had had enough."

"What did she do afterwards? Did she hurt you?"

"No. She sat down on the floor near my dad and stared at his body. I called 911 and a social worker eventually came. That was the one and only day of school I ever missed."

Brenda considered this for a long while. "So you…you had to live in a place like I did?"

Sara nodded. "Yes."

"And nobody…nobody adopted you?"

"No. It was pretty much just me since then," she answered. "Until now, I mean. Now, I've got you."

It was then that Brenda did something no one on Earth had ever done for Sara: she cried for her. They were the genuine tears that Sara never allowed herself to shed. Brenda's arms were around her mother's neck, and in a flash they were no longer peers but parent and child, and Sara took the time to comfort her daughter. "Shh…it's alright. I didn't tell you this to make you sad. I told you this so you could understand a lesson that you taught me, although you didn't even know it." At that moment, Brenda looked up, her face red and wet from crying. "For a long time, I didn't think I could ever be anyone's…mom. I didn't think I'd be good at it because, well, my parents weren't good at being parents. But being with you and being your mom," she continued, "it taught me that just because you come from something doesn't mean you have to live it for the rest of your life."

She stroked the little girl's hair. "Yes, your life has not been easy. You've had to be so brave for so long, and you've had to see things and experience things that no one – no matter how old they are – should have to see or experience. But that doesn't mean that's what your life holds for you. You're better than normal. You…are full of magic, Brenda. You're my castle in the air."

Both of them sniffled a bit and hugged each other a little longer. Sara eventually tucked Brenda into bed and took up residence on the comfortable chair in the corner of the room. She watched Brenda sleep for as long as she could before exhaustion set in and her eyelids began to droop. And for the first time in almost forty-eight hours, Sara Sidle went to sleep.

TBC…


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: It's been a while since I updated. Real Life sucks so bad. Oh, Fake Life, how did I ever think I could do without you?

Chapter 24

After Sara woke late Sunday morning, her neck stiff from hours folded in the chair in Brenda's room, she silently crept into her bathroom to shower and change. The little girl was still fast asleep, and Sara had no desire to wake her. So long as her dreams were pleasant, Brenda could sleep away the day as much as she liked. She eventually roused from bed while Sara was mixing waffle batter in the kitchen. Brenda took her usual place at the breakfast bar and watched as the batter was slowly poured into the waffle iron, taking the shape of the metal and sizzling as it cooked.

"Good morning," Sara said, giving the girl a small smile. She didn't know what else to say. A level of vulnerability had been reached that they had never experienced before. Brenda shared her fears and Sara shared her past, and they both cried over each others' hardships. It wasn't the first time they had been emotional and it wouldn't be the last. Sara was beginning to see a pattern: a problem would arise and they'd cry and hug and then grow a little closer. Though she dreaded the problems, once they faced them, it always resulted in a bond being forged between the newly minted mother and daughter.

And for the first time, their problems didn't seem so big.

"Do you want one waffle or two?"

They relaxed for the remainder of the day, playing board games and watching _Animal Planet_. Sara didn't bring up the topic of the knife or the fishing trip, but instead waited until Brenda addressed it all. She started slowly, almost casually, explaining how she and the other children learned how to bait a hook.

"Worms actually aren't that gross," she told Sara. "I sort of felt bad for them."

Before long, Brenda reached the bloody knife. Sara's hands were clenched so tight into fists her nails bit into the skin of her palms. Still, she listened quietly. Brenda would stop talking for short periods of time and space out, as if she were taken over by a memory, and then would suddenly once again make eye contact and continue.

"That night I thought he was coming for me," she said quietly. "I saw the knife and the blood and I wanted to run so bad. He was coming towards me," she continued, squinting her eyes as if to see the past more clearly, "but then…but then he passed me. He walked right passed me. He smelled like…he smelled like smoke. I thought he was a ghost."

Sara said nothing at first. It killed her to know that this memory was still living inside her daughter, and that there was nothing she could do to erase it. Parents were supposed to fix thing, to make things better. But there was no way to change what happened. She knew she could only change the way it shaped Brenda as she grew. "Does it still make you afraid?" she asked tentatively.

Brenda seemed to consider the question thoughtfully. "Not for a long time."

"But when you saw Norah's dad with the knife…" Sara said, letting her voice drift off.

Nodding, Brenda tucked her hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. "It scared me. And I…freaked out a little bit. Norah's mom said I fainted. I guess I did. I remember waking up on the floor with everyone around me, calling my name."

"Were you still afraid?"

"I…I think I was embarrassed," Brenda said, and then corrected herself. "I _know _I was embarrassed. I felt like I was doing everything right, doing everything normal. I was the first one to catch a fish that morning. We were having fun and then…when it happened, when he cut his hand, it's like I remembered that I'm _not _normal. I _hate _not being normal."

"So do you think your friends won't want to be around you because you're not normal?" Sara asked, arching a brow.

Brenda pouted and shrugged.

"Brenda, I'm not normal either," she reminded the girl. "You know what? I don't even know what normal is. The best anyone can hope for is to be a good person."

"I know," Brenda sighed. "It's just…sometimes it sucks."

Sara let out a laugh. "Yeah, sometimes it does."

They played another game of Scrabble. The young girl was becoming much more adept at building words. It pleased Sara immensely to see Brenda's vocabulary grow by leaps and bounds. She supposed it was akin to the feeling of a parent hearing their baby's first words, and having not been around an infant Brenda when 'ball' and 'dog' were first forming on her lips, Sara savored this all the more.

She raised her eyebrows as the girl's small fingers placed tiles on the board. "Milieu?"

Brenda looked up at her. "Yeah, it means 'environment.'"

Sara nodded. "I know. That's just…an advanced word for an almost-fifth grader to be using."

"Martin's studying vocabulary for the SATs. Sometimes I quiz him," she explained. "His dad wants him to get a perfect score just like his older sister." After adding her points up, Brenda looked up at Sara. "What did you get on the SATs?"

"Um…a 1600."

"A perfect score?"

"Yeah."

Brenda's eyes widened. "Wow."

Sara shifted uncomfortably, blushing a little bit. "I think they changed it now. There's a writing section or something…"

"Yeah," Brenda said, her mouth still agape. "Wow. I can't wait to tell Martin. He really likes you."

"He does?"

"Uh-huh," she answered, reaching into the silver plastic bag for more tiled letters. "He says you look like Gwen Stefani. He _loves _Gwen Stefani."

"Who's that?"

"A singer." Brenda arranged the letters in front of her and then looked up at Sara. "Your turn."

The bell rang before Sara could think of anything. She had no idea who could possibly be at the door so late in the afternoon. They never had unplanned visitors. Brenda looked nervous as well, but she followed her mother to the front door. Through the window, they could see Peggy Oliver with Norah and Martin in tow. "Do you want to go upstairs?" Sara whispered quickly. "I can tell them you're asleep."

"No," Brenda said simply.

Peggy apologized profusely for not calling. "My cell ran out of juice and the kids were dying to see Brenda." Martin and Norah smiled shyly, still a bit affected by the night before. In his hands, Martin carried a bouquet of flowers and Norah was holding a cooler. The boy thrust the flowers at Brenda awkwardly. "We brought the fish Brenda caught," Peggy said, gesturing to her daughter, who was shifting the cooler from one hand to the other. Sara smiled and thanked them, relieving the girl of the heavy item.

Sara invited them in. The three guests said little, and seemed to watch Brenda carefully before making any moves. And Brenda was more than aware of this. Sara knew what it was like to freak out in front of someone and then have to live through the awkward moments that followed. Grissom had seen her weak on a few occasions, and she always dreaded their next encounter. He never made it hard for her, but she could barely look at him. After her near-DUI, she had all but ignored him. When she confessed her past to him after getting suspended by Ecklie, she barely spoke a word to him for weeks. And so Sara expected Brenda to be silent for…

"You wanna go watch a movie?"

Norah and Martin smiled widely and the three children bounded up the stairs to Brenda's room as if the previous night had not happened leaving the two adults alone.

"I-I'm sorry for what happened last night," Sara told Peggy.

"I'm just glad Brenda is okay," the older woman sighed.

They sat down in the kitchen and Sara put on a pot of coffee. Peggy bit her lip and fiddled with her mug. She took a deep breath. "I, uh…I used to volunteer at Norah's school. I helped out in the front office." Sara furrowed her brows, unsure of the direction of conversation, but Peggy just continued, "I was manning the front desk five years ago when we got a call that a little girl whose family had been murdered was going to be transferred to the school, and to keep the media out of it."

Sara's stomach seized and her heart raced. She wanted to vomit.

Peggy tilted her head to the side. "I didn't put two and two together until last night. Brenda Collins…you adopted her." Sara opened her mouth to answer her, but Peggy held up a hand. "I want to tell you something, Sara, about why I had been volunteering at the school. Five years ago, Tim and I celebrated our tenth anniversary. He took me to The Venetian for a weekend. His mom was in from Texas for a visit and she stayed with Norah. We actually named Norah after her. She loved her so. The woman had four sons and fifteen grandsons and Norah was the first girl." She smiled a moment sadly and folded and unfolded her ringed fingers. "Our second night there, Tim and I were drinking champagne on the balcony of our suite at midnight when we got a call from the police."

"The police?"

"My mother-in-law was in the hospital. She had a massive stroke. An officer was with Norah at Desert Palm. They brought her there along with my mother-in-law for a psych evaluation because she wouldn't talk. She was the one who found her grandmother on the floor in the kitchen."

Sara gasped and Peggy nodded. "My mother-in-law used to have a bowl of ice cream before bed. When she stayed over, Norah would have one too, and I'd let her because they enjoyed spending time together. While she was getting their sundaes ready that night, she collapsed in the kitchen. Norah called 911. I taught her to do that, but I never thought she'd have a need for it," the woman said, and Sara could see the emotion in her eyes. "Norah didn't talk for a long time after her grandmother died. I was terrified when she started kindergarten. I volunteered at the school to keep an eye on her. She made no friends, never bothered to raise her hand to speak up in class. And then one day, this adorable little boy strikes up a conversation with her, and it's like I have my little girl back. Ever since then, Martin has been like my son. He was a friend to Norah and brought her out of…wherever she was. And so when she came home from camp one day to tell me about a new friend, I was ecstatic. The first time we had Brenda over for dinner, I couldn't stop smiling. She's the sweetest thing. I had asked the kids what they wanted for dessert, and Brenda asked for ice cream. Norah hadn't touched ice cream since that night. We didn't even keep any in the house so she wouldn't be reminded of it," Peggy explained. "And as I was about to tell Brenda we didn't have any in the freezer, Norah said she wanted some, too. Well, let me tell you, my jaw was on the floor alongside Tim's. I made him stay with the kids while I drove to the supermarket for the ice cream. I cried the whole way there, the whole way back. The girl at the register must've thought I was either insane or recently dumped."

Both women laughed and Peggy wiped an eye. "Something about Brenda made life a little bit more okay for Norah, and I'll be forever in her debt."

Touched, Sara smiled. "I'm glad they have each other."

"Me too."

The kids reluctantly said goodbye to each other, and though Sara had originally planned to keep Brenda home from camp the next day to make sure she was alright, she rethought that decision as she watched the three children interact. Not only did they want to be around each other, they seemed to need it. "So is everything okay?" Sara asked, feigning nonchalance as she loaded dishes from the sink to the dishwasher.

Brenda was silent for a moment as she tilted her head and considered the question. "Yeah. I think so."

Sara felt a sense of relief wash over her. Brenda hadn't swept her problems under the rug and given a resounding 'Yes!' and she wasn't griping over what she could not change and insisting her life was unsalvageable. Sara was well acquainted with both of those extremes.

She wondered if Brenda could teach her a thing or two about middle ground.

TBC…


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Sara left for work early Monday morning, barely a minute after Brenda was picked up for camp. Though she had not made it a habit of going to work extra early since she started working dayshift, Sara was eager to see Grissom again. She had neglected to call him since they last spoke and was feeling extremely guilty for leaving him hanging. She had thought about calling him Sunday night, but felt it fruitless. There was no way she could go in to work, and he would most likely be absorbed in what little evidence they had collected anyway. She'd just be interrupting him.

So Sara bargained down her guilt by going to work early. If Grissom didn't want to work with her, she'd understand. She just needed to offer her services once more, to let him know she was there if he needed her. Nightshift was winding down when she arrived at Grissom's office. The door was closed, so she took a breath and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked harder.

Still no answer.

Sara felt her heart jump. _A lead! Maybe he had a lead and was out following it… _She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and hit #1 on her speed dial, holding it up to her ear.

"Hello, you've reached Gil Grissom. I am not available right now, but please…"

She snapped her phone shut on his voicemail. _Shit_, she thought to herself, and looked around the hallway, hoping to get a glimpse of him in one of the labs. _Or maybe he's out in the desert out of range…_

"Sara."

She gasped and turned, completely startled, and saw Greg Sanders behind her, slipping on a light jacket.

"Whoa, sorry about that," he smiled. "You're in early. I never see you anymore."

"Uh, yeah," she said, catching her breath.

"You've still got some time before dayshift starts. You wanna catch breakfast?"

"Thanks but no thanks, Greg," Sara told him quickly, trying to smile. "Do you, uh, know where Grissom is? I know he's working the Carmichael case, but --"

"The Carmichael case?" he said, his eyebrows raised. "We wrapped that one up last night."

Sara's mouth dropped open, her lips forming an 'O' in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Greg flipped his collar up and shrugged. "Boss copped to it. Came in here and confessed Sunday morning. Grissom went home right after we got the confession."

"Wait," she said, holding her arm out to stop him from going. "Ned Meyers? He killed Shannon?"

"Yep."

"Well…why?"

Once again, Greg shrugged. "Dunno," he told her, and made his way down the hall.

Sara stood alone in front of Grissom's office, taking deep breaths. Every piece of evidence they had collected for this case, every photo they had taken, flashed before her eyes. She could hear the voices from all of the interviews buzz in her ears.

__

"She lived alone."

"She wasn't seeing anyone, to the best of my knowledge."

"Shannon was a bit of a bookworm. Always the first to work. Always the last to leave."

Sara's head began to pound. She imagined the shock on Grissom's face when it all came to a head. Countless hours spent obsessing over every detail of a missing person's life followed by the gruesome discovery of her body were bad enough. Sara had expected a long, drawn out period of reluctant acceptance to follow and had been determined to be there for Grissom, to ease him back into everyday life as best she could. But she did not count on this. A few hours after she left the lab Saturday night, the whole thing spun out of her control and Grissom was nowhere to be found.

She tried his home phone and was directed to his voicemail once again. The workday had yet to begin, so Sara hightailed it out of there and drove the fifteen blocks to Grissom's townhouse, a route she had memorized years earlier and never forgotten. She parked her car haphazardly and ran to his front door, praying that he'd be home and not wandering around the dump site of Shannon's body or some other place that reminded him of the woman he never met.

Sara rang the bell three times and all but banged her fist on his door. If he were asleep, he'd just have to wake up. She needed to make sure he was in one piece, literally and figuratively. As she raised her arm to pound the solid doorframe again, it swung open. Grissom stood in front of her, his face completely blank.

All of a sudden, Sara felt self-conscious. "I-I called you. You're not answering your phones." She tried not to sound accusatory but failed miserably.

"I know."

"Oh."

"How's Brenda?"

Sara blinked and shook her head clear. "She's…she's fine. Fine. How are you?"

He didn't answer, only stared into her eyes. It was a dumb question.

"Greg told me about the confession," she continued. "H-how did it happen?"

Grissom shrugged. "After you left, I called Ned Meyers and let him know we found Shannon's body. She had no next-of-kin, so I figured he'd be the one who would handle any funeral arrangements. He requested a meeting with me right away, came to the lab, and confessed. He said he couldn't take it anymore."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Why did he do it?"

Grissom stared at her a beat and then answered her. "He said he told her he loved her one afternoon and she didn't reciprocate his feelings."

"So he _killed_ her?"

"Apparently."

Grissom was deadly calm, while Sara felt more frazzled with every passing minute. She wanted to say something so badly, but found herself without words.

"Don't you have work right now?"

Sara's eyes widened and she checked her watch. "Yeah. Yeah. Um…do you need anything?"

He furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

She groped for words. "Just…anything. I know you were up all weekend, and --"

"I'm fine."

"Oh."

They stood in his doorway for several seconds before he raised his eyebrows. "Goodbye?"

"Right," she said, straightening her spine. "Goodbye."

Sara turned and walked down his steps to her car, confused about what had just happened. It seemed as if Grissom had no greater desire than for her to be out of his sight. He wanted her gone. She supposed she understood to a degree. Though she had helped him throughout the majority of his Missing Persons case, she was never as gung-ho about it as he was. She was always pessimistic where he had hope, always quick to shoot down his theories. As Sara got into her car, she could see Grissom still standing at his front door. He had yet to close the door. He watched her as she drove off, and she kept her eyes on him in the rearview mirror until he was out of sight.

TBC…

A/N: I know that this fic is slow-moving. It's GSR, but I don't see how I can have Grissom and Sara making the hot, sweaty love when, right now, they're both in a weird place in this fic. I'll try to update more frequently.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

She kept an eye out for him at work, but soon found out that Grissom had logged so much overtime he was able to take a week off with little objection from his superiors. Sara didn't doubt that he needed it, and while she was glad that he wasn't overworking himself, she was worried that he was alone. She debated stopping by his house during her lunch break, but decided against it. Their last encounter there wasn't very warm, to say the least, and Sara had no intention of invading his space.

But she couldn't leave him alone.

Shannon Carmichael's body had been released right after Ned Meyer's confession, and the subsequent funeral was being held on a hot Wednesday morning. Sara entered the air conditioned church and immediately saw Grissom sitting in one of the back pews. She sat down next to him quietly. He turned to regard her for a moment, but said nothing. The pews began to fill up quickly. All of the people couldn't have been Shannon's close and personal friends, but Sara knew that very public murders tended to bring out the curiosity in most. She wondered who would have come to her funeral if she had died months earlier when Shannon did -- without family or a large group of friends, without Brenda . She had the people at work, who she knew cared for her, though they knew little about her. A neighbor or two in her apartment building might have come to be polite. And though Sara had gathered some friends in college, they were on either coast, and she doubted any would ever make the trip to Vegas for her funeral. It was, all in all, a pitiful list. But as she stood there for the prayer, Sara knew that the only person who had truly cared for her throughout the years, though he didn't always show it, was right next to her. She could feel the warmth radiate from Grissom's body in the cold, marble church. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and held it there and felt the heat seep into her fingers from the soft wool of his suit jacket.

If she had startled him, he made no indication of it. They sat down for the remainder of the service, and Sara slid her palm down his forearm to grip his hand, intertwining their fingers. On two previous occasions, Grissom had reached out to her in a similar fashion and it helped. Small gesture as it was, it had helped. His hand was lax in hers for several minutes, but soon he gripped her as tightly as she gripped him.

Sara reluctantly let him go when it was time to leave. It was almost noon and she had promised her boss -- her _new _boss -- she'd testify in court on an assault case they had processed the month before. The church began to empty out and she bit her lip, wondering what Grissom would do next. She turned to him and smiled tentatively.

"Are you going to the burial?"

He didn't return her smile, only stared at her. "Are you?"

Behind her back, Sara clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. "I've got to be in court in forty-five minutes."

Grissom merely nodded.

"I can have someone cover for me and then I could go with you," she began, but he just shook his head.

"I'm not going, anyway."

"Oh." She wondered what he would do instead. So much of Grissom's time and energy had been put into finding Shannon, and then finding her killer. Whenever she'd leave work, she knew that he was, in some capacity, still working the case, still examining the evidence, if not at the lab, then in his head.

Now, it was over.

She pictured him going home alone to his townhouse with no case to keep him company. It hurt her heart to think about it. She could see him sinking down on his couch and staring at a wall, his eyes glassy and unresponsive, much like Brenda had been the night her family was murdered. Shannon was dead and her killer was behind bars, but Sara knew that obsession didn't wear off so easily. The case would live on in Grissom's brain, would fester and rot because he'd let it. And he'd let it because he knew no one would stop him.

And so Sara took a deep breath and a shot in the dark. "Why don't you come over my house for dinner? It…it's been so long since we talked. We could…catch up."

He seemed skeptical and wary, but she added a quiet, "Please," and his face seemed to soften fractionally.

"Alright."

"Great," she said, widening her smile. "I'll see you around six? Six-thirty?"

Though his enthusiasm was more than lacking, he nodded. "Okay."

They exited the church and walked together to the parking lot, saying their goodbyes in the process. Sara moved to open her car door when a thought suddenly seized her. "Grissom!" she called out to him. "You need my new address."

He squinted at her in the late morning sun. "I know where you live."

TBC…


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Preoccupied with thoughts of Grissom for the remainder of the day, Sara's buzzing mind came to a screeching halt the moment she entered her home and hung up her jacket next to a small pick raincoat.

Brenda's raincoat.

Grissom was going to be there in less than three hours. He was aware of Brenda, but Brenda was not aware of him. Sara had never introduced the little girl to any acquaintance, partly because she knew quite a bit of explaining would have to be done and partly because almost all of her acquaintances knew of Brenda's past.

Sara ran her hand down the sleeve of the raincoat and wracked her brain, thinking back to the night she met Brenda, the night of the murders. Grissom had been there, had been the first to talk to the then four-year-old little girl.

She sat down on the arm of the couch and rubbed her temples. The last thing she wanted to do was remind Brenda of that nightmare, and Grissom was just that: a reminder. Though he wasn't the best people person, Sara knew he was aware enough not to mention the quadruple homicide that led to Brenda's stay in foster care and eventual adoption. He wasn't stupid. But Sara feared Grissom's mere presence would be enough to upset Brenda.

Her stomach was in knots. If Grissom came over for dinner and Brenda recognized him, she could possibly have a flashback of the night her family died, resulting in another meltdown. On the other hand, Sara feared what would happen to Grissom if she left him alone. He looked perilously close to snapping and she didn't want him falling over any edge when there was a chance he could be pulled back. What was more, he seemed willing to accept her help, or, at the very least, her company, something that had not occurred for a very long time. When she first met Grissom in San Francisco a decade earlier, he had been genial. Social, even. They had shared some meals, discussed things other than work, and generally had a nice time together. That rapport changed the moment she stepped foot on his turf. He wasn't always cold, but he wasn't always friendly, either. Sara eventually chalked it up to his being the boss and not wanting to play favorites, and part of her had to admit that she found this new Grissom to be quite intriguing, even more of a puzzle than the one she met in San Francisco. He was a challenge, and the overachiever in Sara had wanted to conquer the Rubick's cube that was Gil Grissom. Five years ago, she set her sights on figuring him out, but somewhere along the lines, she fell headlong in love and it stopped being a game. She thought his feelings were similar to her own, took a chance, and was rejected. And while she was kicking herself for her stupidity, she witnessed him express the very feelings she convinced herself never existed to a murderer. What should have disgusted her only added to her desire to know him more.

But Sara thought the vicious cycle had been broken when she adopted Brenda and was surprised when she felt the pull yet again. It scared her. She couldn't let herself be put through the wringer one more time because there was someone depending on her now. Grissom's emotional roller coaster was not a ride she could afford to get back on.

She found her purse and searched for her cell phone. There was no way he could come over. There was no way he could meet Brenda and possibly trigger another flashback. The risks were too great. She'd have to call him and cancel.

But then he'd be left alone. Sitting on his couch and staring at the wall.

Either way, someone she loved stood the chance of getting hurt. Unless…_unless_…

She scanned the phonebook on her cell and found Peggy Oliver's number. After the second ring, Peggy picked up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Peggy, it's Sara."

"Oh, hi, Sara!" the woman exclaimed. "How are you doing? I was just going to call you about getting the kids together this weekend before we go to Alabama to visit my family. Norah is going to miss Brenda so much."

"Oh, well, I was wondering if Brenda could maybe stay over your house tonight. I've got something I have to do and --"

"That'd be no problem at all! I made apple pie!"

Sara smiled. "Brenda's favorite."

"It's a sign," Peggy said warmly.

She thanked Peggy and then made plans to drop Brenda off the moment she arrived home. After she hung up the phone, Sara dashed to Brenda's room and packed a small duffle bag with everything the little girl would need for her last-minute sleepover. The moment Brenda girl stepped through the front door, her mother worked her hardest to not let it show that she was even remotely troubled. After making an excuse about work, she explained the plans and if Brenda had been initially concerned by Sara's behavior, she was immediately distracted by the prospect of going to her friend's house. Within ten minutes, they were out the door and on their way. Peggy and Norah eagerly welcomed them, but Sara begged off and quickly got back into her car, heading to the supermarket to pick up some groceries for dinner. She had contemplated just ordering takeout, but felt that cooking would help pass the undoubtedly anxious wait for his arrival. Sara settled on pasta with a shrimp sauce -- a dish she had made several times for Brenda. It was failsafe, it tasted good, and it was easy to make.

Once home, she set her mind to cooking. As the cream sauce began to thicken and Sara collected her thoughts, she realized how much she missed Brenda. Normally, the little girl would be helping out in the kitchen or telling Sara about her day at camp. And even on those days where Brenda was in the library glued to a book or in her room doing something, her presence in the house was still comforting. It felt empty now, but Sara couldn't dwell on those feelings. Grissom would soon be at her door. And for the first time, it wouldn't be because she made a mistake.

In the scant half hour before his arrival, Sara fluffed pillows that didn't need fluffing and dusted an already-spotless dining room table. The doorbell rang once and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She recovered just in time to accept a large UPS package of books she ordered for their ever-expanding library. Nerves were beginning to get to her. She set out candlesticks -- a recent purchase -- as a centerpiece, and then quickly relegated them to the buffet, deciding their romantic effect a bit too much for the evening.

She set the table, stood back, and panicked. It looked much too formal. Like a restaurant. People on dates went to restaurants. This was not a date.

Sara quickly stacked up the dishes and brought them with her to the kitchen. She stirred the sauce one last time, drained the pasta, and checked the clock. It was almost time. With the food ready, Sara allowed herself a few seconds to breathe. She smoothed her hair and was about to tuck in her shirt when she realized she was still in a skirt. Skirt equaled date.

__

And this is not a date, Sara reminded herself.

She ran to the laundry room and pulled out a clean pair of jeans from the dryer. Her pantyhose put up a valiant fight, but she was able to tug them off without ripping them. She was just buttoning up her jeans when the doorbell rang. In bare feet, Sara nervously walked to her front door and opened it quickly, as if she were ripping off a Band-Aid.

And there he stood in his suit, looking tired but handsome as ever. Sara wondered what it was that made him grow more and more attractive with every passing year. She felt unbelievably plain in her jeans and wrinkled dress shirt.

"Hi," she said, almost shyly. "Come in."

He took a tentative first step, as if he were testing the firmness of the ground. She could see his eyes dart around, looking for signs of the child that resided in the house. "Brenda's at a friend's house," she explained.

"Oh." He seemed to look relieved. Sara hadn't considered the fact that he could as nervous about his seeing Brenda again as she was. "Uh, thank you for inviting me," he said awkwardly.

Sara pressed her lips together and nodded. "Are you hungry now? The food is ready."

"Uh, sure."

__

God, why is this so hard? Sara wondered as she led him to the dining room. "Is shrimp and pasta alright?"

"Fine."

"Why don't you sit down? Do you want anything to drink?"

"Water is fine," he said, taking his seat.

She nodded. "I'll go get the food."

Grissom immediately stood up again. "I'll help you."

Sara didn't want to argue. She didn't want to talk at all. This was just beyond weird. She almost wished Brenda was there to break the ice. He followed her into the kitchen and watched as she ladled pasta into their plates. "Um…the glasses are in that cupboard," she said, gesturing to the far right with her chin. "Do you think you could get me some water, too?"

"Sure."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sara watched him.

"Do you want ice?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," she answered, still watching him. He carefully filled the two glasses up with an equal amount of ice, and then poured the water. The ice clinked in the glasses and Grissom looked up at Sara. She returned her attention to the pasta.

They sat down and began to eat in silence. Knowing they'd finish their meals without saying a word if she didn't speak up, Sara cautiously began the conversation. "So…how are you?"

Grissom's fork paused halfway between his plate and his mouth and he just looked at her. "I'm fine," he finally said, and then continued eating.

"It's just…I haven't really spoken to you much since I moved to dayshift…"

"Things on nightshift have been fine." He took another bite and then looked back up at her. "How have you been?"

Sara gave him a small smile. "Busy."

"Is Brenda doing well since…"

"Uh, yeah. I think so. It's…it's a tough situation," she told him, touched that he cared to ask. Grissom wasn't one to make small talk for the sake of saying something. He nodded and she continued. "We're getting through it. It's something that will always affect her -- unfortunately. But we're dealing with it. Other than that incident last weekend, I've been really surprised at how well she's adjusted."

"Good." He took the last few bites of his meal and then put his fork down. "You, uh, have a really nice house. Have I been paying you too much all these years?"

Sara let out her first laugh of the evening. "Uh…no."

"Don't tell me you bought this place with the money from the summer waitressing gig you had when you were a teenager," he said, smiling a bit, and Sara was flattered that he remembered that small detail about her life.

"Well, partly," she told him, sitting back in her chair. "I started saving for college ever since I was old enough to make money. And then when I got a scholarship, I didn't have anything to spend the money on. So after my Introduction to Economics course freshman year, I looked into investing."

"So you played the stock market?"

"Up until grad school. I was pretty good at it," she told him. "When I got back to California, I started searching for a place to live. I found this dilapidated apartment building with the most beautiful views in the city. It was practically condemned."

"You didn't rent an apartment there, did you?"

"No. I bought it."

Grissom's eyes widened. "The building?"

Sara shrugged. "Yeah. I had just graduated college. Everything in my life was going according to plan. I needed to take a chance, plus it was a buyer's market then. So I sunk all my money into the building -- hired contractors and electricians, brought the building back up to code. I started renting out the apartments --twelve of them, plus the studio apartment in the basement, where I lived. By the time you asked me to come to Las Vegas, the market had gone up so high I couldn't have afforded to live in the building if I didn't own it."

He laughed. "So did you sell it when you came here?"

She shook her head. "No. I considered it, but I felt it was a good idea to have someplace to go back to. Just in case."

Grissom's smile seemed to fade. "Oh."

"When I decided to adopt Brenda, I thought about moving back there or selling it and buying a house in another city -- a change of pace for both of us."

Grissom fiddled with his napkin. "What made you decide against that?"

Sara shrugged. "She's happy here."

"Are you?"

"I'm happy if she's happy."

He stared at her for a long while. She pursed her lips, expecting him to say something, but he said nothing. She waited on pins and needles until she finally gave in. "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just…you're really a mother, aren't you?"

Sara shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

"It's…different seeing you like this. Not bad," he added quickly. "Different."

"Well, people change," she said quietly.

"Not everybody," he corrected.

"You're right." She looked at his empty plate. "Do you want anymore? Some dessert, maybe? I've got cheesecake in the fridge."

Grissom shook his head. "I'm stuffed."

"Coffee?"

"Sure."

Sara got up and made her way to the kitchen. She was surprised when he followed her, bringing his dirty dish along with him. As she put on the pot of coffee, he returned to the dining room and brought back her plate and their glasses. As they waited for the coffee to brew, Grissom seemed to notice a large cardboard box that Sara had absentmindedly placed on the kitchen table earlier. "What did you order? Stuff for work?"

She tilted her head and smiled. "Uh, no. Books for Brenda, I think. Actually, I can't remember. I seem to always be ordering books. You have no idea how many trees have died to fill my library."

"You have a library?" Grissom was intrigued.

"Come on, I'll show you," she said, pausing at the kitchen table to hoist the large package. Grissom immediately relieved it from her grasp and Sara quietly thanked him and led him to the library.

"Wow," was all he said. Where most men would have been impressed by a game room or a giant television, a library was right up Grissom's alley. He set the box down on the floor and continued to admire the room.

Sara went to work opening the package. "Ah, _Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing_," she said, removing the first book from amongst the bubble wrap. Grissom smiled at her and they unpacked the books together.

They finished stocking the shelves and proceeded to sip coffee standing up in the kitchen. Sara blew on the steaming, bitter liquid and looked up at him. "So…when are you going back to work?"

"I'm taking a leave of absence."

She almost choked. "Where are you going to go? And for how long?"

"I'm staying in Las Vegas."

"Oh," she breathed, and Sara's heart returned to a regular rhythm.

Grissom took a sip of his coffee and stared off into the distance. "I'm writing a textbook."

"A textbook?"

"I've written a few entomological textbooks -- graduate level stuff -- and my publisher has been suggesting for a few years now that I write introductory text on the undergraduate level," he explained. "Enrollment has skyrocketed recently."

Sara nodded. "It's all the TV shows."

"Yes. The rapid influx of students hasn't been met with a sufficient supply of information."

They were quiet for a long moment. Sara was confused. He was leaving work for an undetermined period of time to write an introductory textbook? It seemed so hands-off, so un-Grissom. He was a wonderful teacher, but his classroom was a crime scene, not a lecture hall. She had no doubt Forensics 101 by Dr. Gil Grissom would be the ultimate guide for every criminalist-to-be, but was that what he wanted to do? Involuntarily, she remembered his words to Dr. Lurie in the interrogation room the year before. He couldn't risk his job to have a relationship with her. It was still a sore spot, but a part of Sara understood why Grissom's dedication to his work precluded all personal relationships. But to hear he was abandoning the job he loved more than her to write a textbook was…disappointing. Disheartening.

"Why now? Why leave your job now?" she asked in a flourish.

"Like you said, people change."

TBC…


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Grissom haunted Sara for the remainder of the week. When she wasn't doing anything important, her mind would instantly go back to him. He had left her house politely enough, thanking her for the dinner and the company, but his demeanor seemed unchanged. Sara scolded herself for thinking she could fix him in one evening, or that she could fix him at all. Maybe there wasn't even anything to fix.

Luckily, Brenda distracted Sara enough so her days weren't spent dwelling solely on Grissom. The little girl was eagerly preparing for an end-of-camp celebration weekend where the campers would show off all that they did and learned to their parents. Saturday was the picnic and polo match in which Norah, an expert equestrian, was team captain. Brenda was still a bit unsure around horses, and so she was showcasing her talents in the art exhibition. Martin, according to Brenda, was going to participate in the chess tournament.

"I don't think I practiced enough this summer, so I'm not going to play piano in the recital."

Sara furrowed her brows. "What are you talking about? You practice all the time," she reminded her. The little girl spent hours on the electric keyboard she had purchased for her.

"Yeah. But I'm not very good…yet," Brenda told her.

"Do you want piano lessens when camp is over?" Sara asked as she folded some clothes and placed them in her dresser drawer.

Brenda flopped onto her mother's bed and stared at the ceiling. "Do I have to pick between ballet and piano?"

Sara tossed some underwear into another drawer. "Well, not if you think you can handle them along with your homework."

"I can!" the girl said enthusiastically, hopping off of the bed and running out of the room. "I'm going to go practice my scales."

Smiling and shrugging, Sara went back to folding clothes. She was so happy Brenda's summer had been a success, and was eager to see which painting of hers would be on display, for Brenda was keeping it a secret. On Sunday, the camp held a carnival and Sara had been volunteered by her daughter to make cupcakes.

"Okay," she had nodded when Brenda told her one afternoon in the pool. "How many?"

"I think they said two hundred," the little girl informed her as she treaded water.

Sara sputtered and coughed. "Two hundred?"

Brenda had only smiled and nodded, blissfully unaware. "Uh huh."

Sara shook her head at the memory. She was no baker. Twenty cupcakes she could handle. Fifty would be pushing it. And the lab was doing nothing to ease her schedule enough to make time for it. The following days were murder at work -- literally. Brass, who had taken over as supervisor of the nightshift for Grissom during his leave of absence, enlisted her help on a rapper feud that led to a nightclub shooting and the death of a ditzy socialite heiress.

She'd pick up the cases during the day and follow the leads, handing them off to him when her shift ended and, a couple of times, calling the sitter that Dr. Cheng had recommended to baby-sit Brenda for a few hours in the evening so she could stay at the lab. It was odd at first working with Jim Brass, CSI. She had only known him as a cop, as he had been demoted before she arrived in Las Vegas five years ago, and she was finding him to be quite the capable CSI. He definitely was no science geek, but he fit the role of nightshift supervisor well, and Sara could easily understand why Grissom had chosen Brass to fill in for him during his absence.

The rap feud turned out to be another East Coast/West Coast altercation ("I don't understand!" Brass had complained when they combed through the evidence. "This isn't a coast! We live in the desert!") and, by Friday evening, the socialite's death had been ruled an accident. Sara sighed as she checked her watch. It was late. She had hardly seen Brenda during the past couple of days. She dialed her home phone number and the babysitter answered.

"Is Brenda there? Can I speak to her?" Sara whispered into the receiver as she grabbed her bag from her locker.

"Brenda's asleep. She zonked out in front of the TV and I brought her up to bed," the sitter informed her.

Overwhelmed with guilt, Sara said goodbye and hung up the phone, taking a seat on a nearby bench to mope about motherhood. She had ridden the highs and supposed these were the lows, the wallowing in guilt that Catherine had spoke of when they worked on the same shift together.

"Hey there, stranger," Brass said, startling Sara. He smiled at her from the doorway. "Ready to go?"

She nodded.

"I'm gonna go get something to eat at that crap diner down the street. Wanna come?"

Sara checked her watch yet again. Brenda was already asleep and her stomach was empty. She smiled tiredly and sighed and said yes. They met up at the greasy, hold-in-the-wall restaurant the nightshift frequented. He ordered a steak; she ordered a tuna melt. Brass seemed to take notice when Sara declined to order beer, instead choosing to drink the glass of complimentary ice water already in front of her.

He handed his menu to the waitress and smiled. "So, how's life treating you?"

Sara took a sip of her water and nodded her head. "Good. Things are going good."

"Great. Good." Brass folded his hands in front of him and leaned forward. "You gotta come back."

"Excuse me?"

"You gotta come back to nightshift. Grissom is --"

"Grissom took a leave of absence," she interrupted, reminding him of what he already knew.

"He's been a mess ever since you left."

"He's been a mess ever since Shannon Carmichael went missing," Sara argued.

Brass shook his head. "He's gotten worse."

"And that's my fault?" she asked, defensively.

"It's not your fault. It's just…he needs you."

Sara's eyes widened. "No, he doesn't."

Head in hands, Brass heaved a great sigh. "Sara, you don't get it. I don't think you know what this case did to him." Before she could speak, he held up a hand and continued. "A young woman was murdered by her older boss because he loved her but she didn't love him back. Remind you of a case that thoroughly fucked Grissom up over a year ago?"

"You think I'm like these women?" Sara asked hotly. "Debbie and Shannon? I'm like them?"

"Well --"

"What? We're around the same age. Single. By all accounts, they were smart, good at their jobs," she said, her voice dangerously low. "Hell, one of them could've been my twin."

Brass looked pained. "It's more complicated than that --"

"Oh, I know it is," Sara said, raising her eyebrows. "Because in the end, I have the most in common with Vincent Lurie and Ned Meyers. And you know what that is, Jim?"

He didn't answer, merely pressed his lips together, looking as if he wished he had never started the conversation.

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "Rejection."

TBC…


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Sara had left the diner in a huff, returning home late, tired and hungry, and having not spent any real time with Brenda in more than two days. She had two missed calls on her phone from Brass, but decided to ignore them. Her conversation with him had made her realize something she never considered, and it disturbed her. When Debbie Marlin was murdered, Sara could see the obvious parallels between the case and her relationship with Grissom: an older man and his younger employee -- an employee that happened to be the spitting image of Sara herself -- and their unhappy ending. Shannon Carmichael was also the younger, female employee. Her boss was also the older loner, quiet and intense.

But what had hit home for Sara as she sat across from Brass that evening was the fact that gender, age, and office politics had nothing to do with it. Sara was not the man. She was not older than Grissom, nor was she his boss. But in so many ways, she had been in Dr. Lurie's shoes. She had lived in Ned Meyer's skin. She knew what it was like to take that chance, to take that step. And she knew what it was like to have your heart stomped on in the process. Like Lurie, like Meyers, she had put herself on the line.

And like those men, she didn't get what she wanted.

Frustrated, Sara crawled into bed and passed out, only to be woken up by an excited Brenda at sunrise. The little girl bounced around the room, talking a mile a minute about the upcoming events of the day.

"We have to be there by eleven because I promised Norah I'd help her groom her horse and I have to make sure they hung up the picture I submitted for the art exhibition and we have to pack our lunch for the picnic and --"

"Brenda!"

"What?"

"Slow down," Sara said, squinting her eyes. She blindly reached for the clock on her nightstand, blinking at its face and groaning before handing it to her daughter. "It is five thirty in the morning. When the little hand is on seven, wake me up."

"But Mom!" Brenda protested. "We have to get ready for the --"

"Brenda," Sara began slowly, "I haven't had much sleep these past few days. And if I don't have at least one more hour, I will fall asleep during Norah's polo match."

"But --"

"Brenda…"

"Okay," the girl grumbled, and trudged out of the room, clock in hand.

Sara felt a bit guilty, but sleep ultimately took over and she drifted off, dreams replacing consciousness.

__

"Why did you do it?" Brass asked, standing over her in the interrogation room.

Sara could see herself fold her hands on the table, staring straight ahead, her face emotionless.

"Damn it, why?" Brass demanded, his fist pounding the surface of the table, shaking it.

There was blood on her hands. It was moist on the palms, but was drying on the backs of her hands and flecking off in small bits. A knife lay in a clear plastic evidence bag next to her. She shrugged and then gasped when Brass grabbed her by the collar. "Goddamn it, why did you do it?"

Sara met his eyes. "He said, 'No,'"

She gulped air as she bolted upright in her bed, her hair matted to her forehead with sweat, her heart threatening to beat right out of her chest.

"Oh good, you're up," Brenda smiled, dangling the clock in front of her mother.

Sara numbly went though her morning routine. She showered and brushed her teeth, forgoing any coffee or breakfast. Her nervous stomach was in no condition to handle anything right now. Brenda piled slices of tomato on her roast beef sandwich while Sara half-heartedly spread some hummus on a roll for her own lunch. She didn't have to say much, as Brenda talked non-stop while they put together a salad for the picnic. The little girl laughed cheerily as they packed everything into the car, and Sara determinedly set her mind to enjoying the day with Brenda. She couldn't let her hectic relationship with Grissom take a toll on her blossoming relationship with her daughter.

They set up picnic next to Martin's parents and the two children ran off to the stables to help their friend prepare for the polo match. Sara laughed and talked to the two doctors, and were soon rejoined by the children for lunch as the match began. They cheered Norah on and Sara was surprised to see how skilled Brenda's young friend was on a horse, leading her team to a narrow victory over their opponents.

After the polo match, everyone split up and went their respective ways. Brenda eagerly led Sara to the art exhibition which was being held in the Davis Academy's marble lobby.

"Close your eyes," Brenda told her mother as they entered the cool, air-conditioned space.

Sara shut her eyes and the little girl took her hand and guided her several feet forward.

"Okay, open your eyes."

It took Sara a moment to get readjusted to the light. She blinked and then focused on the canvas in front of her. It was a portrait of…herself.

"Brenda!" she exclaimed, her jaw dropping slightly.

"Do you like it?" the girl asked, half giggling with delight, half nervous with anticipation.

"Of course! Of course," she repeated, hugging the girl to her side but still not able to take her eyes off of the painting. "Wow. It's…amazing," she said, feeling her eyes begin to water. The portrait showed a smiling Sara, her hair down and her eyes bright. It wasn't an exact likeness, but, for Sara, it was the most perfect painting in the world. "Thank you, kiddo."

They continued on to the chess tournament and watched as Martin placed third among the campers. Sara was impressed with some of his chess moves and told him such, watching the boy blush at the compliments. The three families went out to dinner, laughed, ate too much, and fought over the check. Brenda nodded off on the car ride home, tired from the excitement of the day. Sara pulled into the driveway slowly, her stomach seizing when she noticed another car already parked there. She immediately glanced into the rearview mirror and made sure Brenda was asleep. Her headlights shined on the figure standing next to the government-issued SUV, and was shocked to see Brass squinting back at her.

Sara hastily parked her car and got out of her vehicle. "What are you doing here?" she whispered harshly.

"You should answer your phone."

"Why?" she asked, suddenly worried. "Did something happen?"

"No," he told her. "But I want to finish our conversation."

"How did you find my place?"

"They're called personnel files," Brass said sarcastically. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Sara remembered Brenda who was still sleeping in the backseat of the car. "You have to leave."

The look on his face changed suddenly, and he took a step back. "If you've got a boyfriend in there…"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you living with someone?"

Sara's eyes widened. "That is none of your business."

Brass narrowed his eyes. "Sara, I don't want to intrude on your life, but Grissom --"

"-- has nothing to do with my life," she lied.

"That's bullshit and you know it. You have to understand --"

"_What_?" she asked sharply. "How Grissom is the victim in all of this? How I'm breaking his heart?"

Brass pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes for a moment. "Obviously, I don't know everything that has gone on between the two of you --"

"A big fat nothing has gone on between us and that's not my fault," Sara said bitterly under her breath, almost surprised at how strong her feelings still were.

"-- but you've gotta see this from his perspective," he continued. "He is scared."

"And I'm _not_?" she almost shrieked.

"You're _young_," he said emphatically.

"Age has nothing to do with it," Sara spat back at him.

"Oh yes it does when you're a man like Grissom," Brass explained. "I've known the guy for damn near twenty years, okay? He was always the absentminded professor -- married to his work, content with that, even. Sara, he was prepared to go it alone before you showed up."

"I didn't materialize out of thin air," she said, narrowing her eyes. "He invited me to stay."

"And do you know how much that shocked me?" he exclaimed. "After the whole Holly Gribbs mess, I hear Grissom is bringing a 'friend' over to investigate. And lo and behold, it's a young friend. A young, female friend. The whole lab was talking about it. _Who is this girl? How does he know her? _He knew all about that," Brass sighed. "And yet he still asked you to stay."

"So?"

"So that was big for him."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Am I supposed to measure everything against how big it is for Grissom? If he says I look pretty, should I consider myself engaged?"

"All I'm saying is look at the big picture. He's not perfect, but goddamn it, the man inspires loyalty and you know it. Do you think I'd stand in the middle of a driveway at night -- arguing with someone who looks very capable of killing me -- for anyone else?" he asked. "The man loves you, okay? He's got his problems, but he loves you. And he has been fighting that for years and the fight is taking its toll."

"How is that supposed to make me feel?" she asked, hurt and angry. "He doesn't want to feel anything for me!"

"You gotta look at this from his perspective, Sara. You are young. You are beautiful. The way he sees it, the moment he does something wrong, you could leave and have your pick of any guy," Brass explained. "And he knows he's going to end up doing something wrong."

"So he thinks I'm shallow enough to leave him if he does something wrong? Again, how is that supposed to make me feel?" she asked, annoyed.

"Not shallow…Sara, he's scared. I don't think you understand this fear. Look at these cases. They rocked him to the core -- murdered women and the hollowed-out, shells of the men that loved them. He doesn't want the both of you to end up that way."

"He'd never hurt me like that," she said. Grissom was capable of being insensitive, but she knew -- would be her life on it -- that he would never physically harm her.

"I know that. But I don't think he'd survive you leaving him. And on the off chance you would leave him, I guess he decided that he just couldn't risk it. Self-preservation, Sara."

She shook her head bitterly. "So he'd rather the both of us be unhappy apart because of the small chance us as a couple wouldn't work out? How is that logical?"

"Who said love was logical?"

Sara pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose. "So why are you here, then? If you know his mind is made up, why are you here?"

"Because I couldn't call myself his friend and not come here. He…is broken, Sara. He is a broken man. And he needs you."

The tears were flowing down her face. But she couldn't risk it. Not anymore. "I can't."

"Sara…"

"I can't."

"Mom?"

Two heads whipped around to see a sleepy-eyed Brenda standing outside of the car.

"What's wrong?"

Sara was in a state of shock, could feel her body begin to shiver as blood drained from her face. Brass gallantly took over. "Well, hello there, sweetheart. My name is Jim. I'm your mom's friend from work," he smiled. "And what's your name?" he asked, although Sara was sure he already knew exactly who Brenda was.

She stared at him for several long seconds, her steely blue gaze locked on his, and then answered him. "My name is Brenda."

"Aw, Brenda, that's a pretty name. Your mom and I were just talking and --"

"Why is she crying?" the girl asked, narrowing her eyes.

Sara wiped her eyes, sputtering, "Uh, uh…it's nothing, honey. Jim just came to tell me…uh, one of our friends is, uh…not doing too good and I'm sad about that."

"Oh."

"Excuse me, please," Sara whispered to Brass, and lifted a tired Brenda up, walking her to the front door. She quickly settled the girl into bed, kissing her goodnight and turning on the nightlight, before sprinting back downstairs to find Brass getting into his SUV.

"Wait," she said, out of breath.

He looked at her and gave her a half smile, though his eyes were full of sadness. "I understand, Sara. You take good care of her. And yourself."

"Jim, please…"

"Don't worry," he told her. "I won't tell anyone."

TBC…


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Is it Chapter 30 already? Yikes. And to answer someone's question, the Shannon Carmichael case was never on the show. That, I made up. So ha ha, Mr. Disclaimer Man, I guess I _do_ own something. Also, thanks for the reviews. Really, they've taken me by surprise. Thank you so much.

Chapter 30

Unable to sleep, Sara stayed up, preheated the oven, and proceeded to make two hundred and four cupcakes for Brenda's camp carnival the following day. She felt absolutely numb. She lived in a beautiful house with a wonderful daughter. Things had never been better for her professionally.

And yet, as she stirred the fifth extra-large batter of cupcakes, Sara couldn't help but feel her life was falling apart. Brass's words kept echoing in her head: _He's a mess, he needs you_. She wanted to call Grissom. The cordless phone that lay silent on the kitchen counter was beckoning her. _Pick it up_, she told herself. _He's probably awake_. And even if he weren't, wouldn't a mess of a man be glad to talk to the woman he loved?

The woman he loved.

Brass had seemed so sure. Sara remembered that he had been in the interrogation room when Grissom poured his heart out to Dr. Lurie over a year ago, but it hadn't occurred to her that the former detective knew who his friend was talking about. She stilled the spoon in the batter and squeezed her eyes shut, remembering that night so clearly. _"And then somebody young and beautiful shows up…"_

She felt her stomach sink as she recalled Brass's forceful words from hours before: _"You are young. You are beautiful."_

He knew.

It was an odd feeling, this acknowledgement of Grissom's feelings from a third party. It felt validating and altogether sad. He loved her and it was obvious to his friend, but he couldn't tell her. Sara wondered if Brass had already had a similar conversation with Grissom. It couldn't have ended well, for there was no Grissom knocking down her door, begging to be with her.

Not that she could say yes now, anyway.

The smell of cupcakes on the verge of burning told her all she needed to know, that there was no room in her life for a broken down man when there was as child to look after. She had seen the same conclusion on Jim's face the moment Brenda had called her "Mom."

And still it hurt.

The cupcakes, now cooled and frosted, sat in Tupperware, ready for transportation. Sara took three Advil for her splitting headache and washed the small tablets down with some cold coffee, feeling more than a little rundown. She was too tired to sleep. The sun would be up soon, along with Brenda, and sleep would bring nothing but bad dreams anyway.

Brenda woke up, excited about her day as usual, chattering on as she ate her Lucky Charms, and Sara felt like the world's worst mother because she just didn't care. She didn't care that there would be pony rides or a Ferris wheel. She didn't care that Martin's dad would be volunteering for the dunk tank. She didn't care that there would be fireworks. All she wanted to do was cry. Her beautiful, wonderful child was smiling and she could barely muster up the strength to smile back.

"Are you mad?"

Startled, Sara blinked and shook her head. "N-no. No, of course not. Just tired."

Brenda eyed her skeptically, but eventually nodded her head. "Okay."

"I'm going to go take a shower, kiddo," she eked out, her voice hoarse.

"Okay," Brenda said, turning to the back of the cereal box for entertainment.

Sara ran to the bathroom and before she could shut the door, the sobs overtook her. The hot water scalded her, but she didn't bother adjusting it. She couldn't understand why she was like this, how she'd let the melancholy cloud that was her strained love for Grissom rain on her relationship with her daughter. It was despicable, and all of a sudden, Sara felt more undeserving than she had ever felt in her life. She pressed her head against the cool marble wall of the shower and continued to weep, angry at herself for not being one hundred percent. Brenda deserved everything she could give her, all of the love and attention in the world, and, for a few long minutes, Sara had failed her.

Those were the longest minutes in the world.

Her tears subsided eventually, leaving her weak and hating herself. She stumbled out of the shower and dried off, squeezing the excess moisture out of her hair and putting it up into a ponytail. Sara didn't give much thought to her clothes as she dressed, choosing a basic black tank top and black jeans, clothes as dark as her mood.

She found Brenda sitting Indian-style in the family room watching cartoons. After hearing her mother enter the room, the girl forsook the television and ran to Sara, hugging her tight. "You made the cupcakes! Thank you!"

A smile graced Sara's lips for the first time in hours and her eyes began to water. She bent down and hugged Brenda back, holding the small, warm body to her.

"Are there really two hundred?" the girl asked, wide-eyed.

"Two hundred and four," she informed her.

"Woo hoo!"

"Woo hoo, indeed," Sara repeated, "and someone needs to brush her teeth."

"Morning breath! Morning breath!" Brenda squealed.

"All right, that's it," Sara said, hoisting the girl up with one arm and tickling her with the other. "Miss Brenda, you are gross."

The girl giggled. "I know."

"Now brush your teeth," she said, setting her down.

"Okay, okay," Brenda sighed, smiling and tired from being tickled. She walked a few feet towards the stairs and then stopped and turned around. "Do you think if I brush only my bottom teeth, will the top turn yellow and then I'll have, like, yellow and white teeth?"

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Uh, that is one experiment that will not be conducted in this house."

The girl rolled her eyes and then continued her walk upstairs. Sara sighed and straightened out the pillows on the couch, amazed at how a hug and some bad breath could make her feel better.

"Sara Sidle," she muttered to herself as she reached for the remote and turned off the television, "you are now certifiably insane."

TBC…


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

She was tired. Brenda laughed and played and ran around with her friends while Sara found herself sitting on the sidelines, her shoulders chilled in her thin tank top, exhausted from lack of sleep. She hoped their upcoming vacation would go a long way towards rejuvenation. Sara's two weeks off started the following day, and they were to leave for New York on Wednesday. Their bags were packed, ready and waiting. The itinerary had been mapped out weeks in advance. For seven days, they would explore what New York City had to offer; they'd celebrate Brenda's tenth birthday at Lincoln Center and go on one of those ludicrously expensive buggy rides through the park. Brenda had taken to watching movies set in New York and writing down all of the interesting places the characters went, so she wouldn't miss a thing.

Sara had purchased a digital camcorder as a birthday gift for Brenda, and gave it to her a week in advance so the little girl could learn the ins and outs of the device before their trip. The camcorder was currently being pointed at Sara as she sat on a bench near the cotton candy stand.

"Mom, say something!"

Sara blinked. "Uh…hello?" she said, smiling and waving.

"Mom, I'm zooming in…and now I'm zooming out," Brenda told her, concentrating on what she was viewing in the eyepiece. "Zooming in again…and out."

"Okay, okay," Sara laughed. "Go film something else."

Brenda scampered off, leaving her mother to rest on the bench. Sara rubbed her aching neck vigorously and wondered if she had any Advil in her purse. Never had she needed a vacation so much in her life. A year ago, the thought of two whole weeks without work would have horrified her. Work had been her refuge, and to go without it would have been akin to going without food or water. It was her life, what she needed to survive. But as she sat, shivering in the surprisingly cool air, all Sara wanted was a warm bed and a nap. A nice, long nap.

Until then, she'd have to buck up and enjoy the carnival for her daughter's sake. She won Brenda a goldfish and then, amidst the little girl's elation at having her first pet, realized that the newly christened Horton would have no one to take care of him while they were on their trip. "We need to take him with us," Brenda told her mother.

"Uh…I don't think so. We can't bring a goldfish on a plane. They….don't do well at high altitudes," Sara lied. She honestly didn't know how goldfish reacted to the pressurized air at 30,000 feet, but she wasn't going to drag dear Horton to New York only to flush him into the Hudson River once he didn't survive the trip. "We can leave him with one of your friends," she suggested.

"Martin is leaving for Boston tomorrow morning and Norah and her parents are driving to Alabama tonight! We need to take him with us! Who'll feed him if we don't?" Brenda asked, worried.

Sara rubbed her temple and fished into her purse for another Advil, washing it down with Brenda's soda. "Okay, we'll go to the pet store on the way home and get an aquarium. I know they make automated fish feeders, so Horton will get his food while we're gone," she explained. Thank goodness she paid attention to the little details at crime scenes, or she would never have known that little nugget of information.

"Thanks!" Brenda said brightly, smiling up at Sara before going back to filming her new goldfish as it swam around its plastic bag.

They left the carnival early so they could stop off at a nearby pet shop and pick up all of the accoutrements any goldfish could need. As Brenda wandered the aisles, fish in hand, looking at sunken treasure chests and different colored rocks to decorate the new tank, Sara leaned forward to address the clerk. "This fish has got to last at least a week," she muttered. "We're going on vacation on Wednesday and we can't come home to a dead fish."

"Oh, don't worry, ma'am," the pimply clerk assured her, not noticing Sara bristle at being addressed as ma'am, "it should be good for at least another month if you've got a filter. My sister won a goldfish once and it lasted three years."

Sara paid for everything and they went home to set up the new aquarium. "I want it to be in my room," Brenda told her, giddily jumping around at the prospect of her very own pet.

"Alright," she sighed, eager to finish up and get to bed. It took a good hour before everything was up and running, and Sara could feel the weariness in her bones. Brenda, however, was showing no signs of sleepiness. She eagerly watched Horton swim around his new, large home.

"I think he likes it!"

"I'm sure he does," Sara smiled. Horton was Brenda's very first pet, and he also happened to be Sara's first pet, too. She vaguely remembered her mother being allergic to cats and dogs, so for the first decade of her life, pets were a no-no. And in foster care, she would never be able to keep a pet in those unstable circumstances. By the time Sara had reached college, she had other dreams besides having a pet turtle or parakeet. "Come on, let's get a picture of you with Horton," she said, walking over to Brenda's desk to get her digital camera. Sara snapped a few photos of the little girl with her new, treasured pet, and Brenda scanned them thoughtfully.

"This one should go on the mantle!" Brenda exclaimed, pointing at a nice, clear close-up of Horton. Sara laughed. She had been looking for a picture to go above the mantle in the library, and was afraid Brenda would suggest the portrait she had painted for her camp's art exhibition. Sara adored the fact that her daughter had painted a picture of her, but she wasn't so narcissistic to want it displayed prominently.

"I think that would be great," she said, yawning. "We'll do that tomorrow. Time for bed now."

Sara received the usual set of "Awws" and "Do I have to?" from her daughter, but she stood her ground. Brenda relented and changed for bed, all while keeping one eye on her fish. Sara tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and trudged to bed, more tired than she could ever remember.

Her first official day of vacation began with a sore neck and an aching back. Sara felt as if she had been run over by a truck. Her limbs were strangely heavy and she could barely open her eyes in the light. Brenda was awake with the sun and, once again, eager to greet her mother in the morning.

"What are we going to do today?" she asked, climbing up on the bed where Sara lay, still snuggled up under the covers.

"Kiddo," Sara's voice rasped, "Mom's not feeling too well. I think I have a little cold. I need to rest up a bit so I can be better by Wednesday."

Brenda's eyes grew big as saucers as her smile faded into a worried grimace. "Are you going to be alright? Do you need medicine?"

She smiled at the little girl in an attempt to ease her trepidation. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Do you think you could get yourself some cereal, or do you need any help?"

"I can do it," Brenda assured her.

Sara reached for her daughter's hand on the comforter. "Okay, baby. I just need a little time to rest. Why don't you go feed your fish? I'm sure I'll be up in a little while and we'll go do something."

Brenda nodded and was out the door in a flash, off to spend some time with her new pet.

As the hours ticked by, Sara could feel herself grow steadily worse. Her headache was on the verge of becoming a migraine. Placing the back of a hand to her forehead, she could feel the skin burn with fever. Covered in sweat, Sara threw off her comforter. She had the flu once since coming to Las Vegas and had worked straight through it, ingesting every vitamin on the market and drinking gallons of hot tea. It was barely a blip on the radar for her, and didn't affect her life one bit besides the increased number bathroom breaks as a result of all that tea. Though she focused all of her efforts on willing herself to get better, the deterioration in her health was rapid. By noon she was throwing up in her bathroom and Brenda, who had been frequently checking up on her mother, was there by her side, holding her hair back. She tried her best to keep her cool, to not worry her daughter, who was equal parts mature and alarmed. As the sun set and Sara heaved the last of the bile in her system into the toilet, she shakily made her way back to bed. She repeatedly told Brenda that she was fine and encouraged the girl to watch a movie or read a book, but Brenda stayed by her mother's side, offering whatever comfort she could muster up while trying to mask the fear she felt at seeing Sara sick.

Sara leaned her head back against her pillow, a wet washcloth covering her eyes. "I'm going to be fine," she said. "Just fine. Remember that weekend when you were sick? We were in the bathroom for two days, but by the end of it, you were up and running. I just need to get through this."

She peeled the washcloth off of her eyes and slowly sat up in bed. Brenda seemed to hold her breath, but Sara smiled at her. "I just have to pee." She stood up and then, before she knew what was going on, the room seemed to spin and Sara fell back down into bed.

"Mom!"

"I'm fine. F-fine," Sara lied.

"Mom, you're not!" Brenda exclaimed.

She looked up at the little girl and was shocked to see tears streaming down her face. Brenda's worry made Sara sicker than anything an illness could dish out. "All right, I'll go to a doctor." But even as she said that, Sara knew there was no way she could drive. Standing up was hard enough. She rubbed her temple vigorously. She would have gladly called either Norah or Martin's parents and asked them to keep an eye on Brenda while she took a cab to the hospital, but as it was, they were already hundreds of miles away, enjoying their vacations. There was only…

"Brenda, remember the night I met you?"

The little girl looked up at her mother, her hands twisting in the duvet. "Yes."

"Do you remember the man who was with me?"

TBC…


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback. I'm really glad that you guys find my stuff worth reading. Thanks for sticking with it.

Chapter 32

One thing that was good about Grissom was that he wasn't shy about helping her. He'd come to Sara's aid twice before in the past year or so, bringing her home from the police station after she failed a breathalyzer test, and standing up to Ecklie on her behalf, vouching for her before he listened to her painfully relate the tale of her past to him. Both times Grissom had reached out and held her hand, small contact for most people in the world, but for them it was big. It was a connection. And both times, he had initiated it.

She needed his help now, and though Sara knew he would never turn her away, she also worried that the man she was calling for help was not the same man who had held her hand twice before. He was somehow more…delicate. The circumstances surrounding Shannon Carmichael's death seemed to be a last straw for Grissom. Previous cases had absorbed him to the point of being unhealthy -- something that Sara could certainly identify with -- but he had always bounded back. This time, there was no bounding back. Throughout the investigation into Shannon's disappearance, Grissom seemed to be scaling a house of cards, each day finding himself on more perilous ground than the day before. And when Ned Myers confessed to murdering his employee, Grissom took his first false step and then house of cards tumbled, leaving him lost in the wreckage. Was it fair to ask this off him, to ask him for help? Sara sat back against her headboard, cradling the cordless phone she had used to call Grissom in her lap, and squeezed her eyes shut, warding off both the physical and emotional pain. Their conversation had been quick, and he made none of his usual hesitation when it came to her. Sara hadn't bothered with niceties. "I'm sick and I need your help," she had said.

"I'll be right there," he responded, and she thought his voice sounded higher than usual -- worried, perhaps -- but with her currently addled brain, she couldn't be sure.

"Brenda," Sara whispered when she noticed the little girl standing, dressed and ready, at the foot of her bed. She held out her hand and Brenda slowly walked to her. "Can you go into my drawer and get some socks? And my sneakers, too?"

The little girl nodded and obliged her mother. Sara managed to put on her shoes and socks with Brenda's help. The doorbell rang as she finished tying the laces on a sneaker.

"That's him," Sara said hoarsely. She had explained to Brenda that the man who was coming was a friend she had known for years, and that Brenda had already met him, albeit briefly, five years earlier. As the little girl went to answer the door, Sara closed her eyes again, trying to hold back her nausea. She opened them again as she heard two pairs of feet bound up the stairs. Grissom stood, framed in her doorway, and for a fleeting moment Sara wondered how many times she had similarly pictured him -- standing at her bedroom door -- but for a wholly different reason.

Brenda stood in front of him and it was…_weird_…to see them anywhere near each other. They represented two separate parts of her life, two separate eras, in fact. And yet they had one thing in common: Sara loved them both. Brenda walked towards her and Grissom followed, and Sara could feel her eyes well up, for everyone she loved was standing in front of her. Illness forgotten momentarily, she just absorbed those two beings and appreciated how, in their own separate ways, they both proved her ability to love, an ability so long ago she believed was not in her possession. Her head felt like it was going to split open, her stomach was revoking all of its contents, and her muscles seemed to decide to go on strike, but life was so, so sweet. And she was so very lucky.

Grissom leaned towards her and put her hand on her forehead and Sara closed her eyes. "You're burning up."

"She's had a fever since one o'clock," Brenda informed him. "And she's thrown up fourteen times today." She walked over to the nightstand and picked up a pad of paper, handing it to Grissom. "I've got the times here." Sara's eyes widened and she wondered how out of it she was to not notice how carefully Brenda was keeping track of her.

"I think I need to go to the hospital," she said, sitting up slowly, her achy muscles screaming in protest. Brenda's face was white as a ghost, and Sara bit her lip, collecting herself before addressing her daughter. "Can you go find my bag and make sure my keys and wallet are in it?"

Brenda looked at both adults before nodding and exiting the room. Sara watched her go and then turned to Grissom. "She's scared. She has never seen me like this and she is scared. When we get to the hospital, I need you not to worry about me," she explained slowly, willing herself into lucidity. "They'll pump me up with whatever drugs I need and I'll be fine. I need you to keep her calm." He looked doubtful, but she continued, determined that he understand. "Right now, she's terrified, not only for me, but I know part of her is scared to death because I'm all she's got."

He said nothing, only nodded at her, and Sara began to focus on the task of getting up off of the bed. Grissom immediately grabbed her elbow to steady her. "Do you want me to carry you?"

"No," Sara said quickly. "I can do it." She didn't want Brenda to witness her mother so helpless she couldn't walk down the stairs. It would increase her anxiety tenfold. Instead, Sara leaned heavily on Grissom. He wrapped his right arm around her waist and helped her keep her balance as she walked out into the hall. His big, warm body was right up against her side and she wanted to melt into it, to go to sleep with his arm around her. He smelled so nice…

"Mom?"

Sara blinked and saw her daughter standing in front of her, purse in hand. Grissom tightened his hold on her. "Let's go."

It was tough getting down the stairs, but Sara managed to do it. Grissom loaded them both into his waiting SUV and then climbed in. Sara leaned back against the cool leather seats and closed her eyes. "Brenda?"

"Yes?"

"Is your seatbelt on?"

"No."

Sara cleared her throat. "Put it on."

Grissom started the car. "I'm taking you to Mountainview," he told her. "It's a little bit out of the way, but it's the best hospital in the area. Do you think you can hold out an extra fifteen minutes?"

"Sure, sure," she said, not bothering to open her eyes.

Though she was in pain, the ride was shorter than expected. She felt her seatbelt loosen and realized that Grissom had unbuckled it for her, and was slowly letting it retract so the buckle wouldn't hit her face. Sara waited for him to come around and help her out, taking the time to look back at her daughter sitting stone-faced in the backseat. She gave her a small smile and reached her arm out to the little girl, wincing a bit when her muscles protested. "I'm going to be fine, baby."

She said nothing and soon Grissom was opening the passenger door to usher Sara out. He opened the back door for Brenda and she quickly climbed out, standing stock-still, watching her mother try to gain footing on the concrete. The emergency room was so bright it nearly blinded her. Sara had to shield her eyes from the glare of the florescent lights, for they seemed to push her headache into migraine territory. Grissom led them to a seating area and sat Sara down before hunting down a nurse for help. Mother and daughter held hands in the icy cold waiting room and watched the few other occupants read magazines. Grissom returned to them, holding a clipboard that was no doubt meant to record her personal information. "I gave them your name and told them you're with the city," he said quietly. "We can finish filling this out later," he told her, gesturing to the clipboard. Though her vision was hazy, Sara could see that he had began to fill it out for her. He looked up at the nurse walking towards them, pushing a wheelchair. "Over here."

Sara raised her eyebrows but didn't protest. It would've taken too much energy and she didn't have any to spare. He gently helped her into it and they followed the nurse to an exam room. Once again, Grissom was there to help her out of her chair and onto the examination table. The doctor came in, a small Indian man about Grissom's age, and pleasantly addressed the three in a soft voice. Dr. Shaw looked at his chart. "I see here you are having flu-like symptoms. Are you sure you're not pregnant?" he asked, soliciting a laugh and receiving none. The doctor cleared his throat and continued. "It isn't flu season quite yet, though," he noted, lifting each of Sara's eyelids gently with a finger and shining a penlight inside them.

"Ahh!" Sara winced, turning her head and shutting her eyes reflexively.

"Sensitive to light?"

"A little," she answered, rubbing her neck vigorously.

"Sore neck?" the doctor noted.

"Yeah, uh, I guess I pulled it after you shined the light in my eyes."

"You've been rubbing your neck all day," Brenda corrected, speaking her first words since entering the hospital.

Sara blinked and considered, "Um…yeah, she's right."

Dr. Shaw nodded. "And any vomiting?"

Sara nodded.

The doctor turned to address Grissom. "Maybe it would be best if you take your daughter out to the waiting room so I can finish the examination."

Sara tensed immediately and she was sure both Grissom and Brenda were equally uneasy, though they said nothing as they left the exam room to wait outside. The doctor smiled at her and called for the nurse to help take vital signs.

"We're going to do a lumbar puncture," he told her as he eased her back onto the bed. "You have a fever, neck pain, vomiting…"

"W-what?" Sara asked, squinting her eyes up at the doctor. "Meningitis?"

"Mm-hmm," Dr. Shaw nodded. "We'll do the test just to be sure. I suspect viral meningitis; it is the season for it." Sara closed her eyes and waited, opening them wide again when the nurse helped her slip into a gown and coated a small patch on her lower back with iodine. She was surprised the cool liquid didn't sizzle on her feverish skin. The small nurse braced her while Dr. Shaw warned, "This will be uncomfortable. I'm going to give you a local anesthetic that will dull the pain."

Sara grit her teeth and a very long thirty minutes later, the test was finished and the doctor was removing his gloves. "It can take several days to get results on the cultures, but we'll do some other tests on the fluid we extracted. If you do have viral meningitis, as I suspect, you need to stay hydrated." He gestured to the IV that was currently being threaded through her vein by a nurse. "If it is viral meningitis, it is a mild case and you are very lucky."

_Mild?_ Sara wanted to smack him. She felt like she had been shot out of a cannon into a brick wall.

"When can I go home?" she asked, her voice gruff from lack of sleep.

"I want to keep you here overnight until we get some preliminary tests in. If your fever goes down and you have no complications, then you'll be out of here by noon tomorrow," he told her. "A case of viral meningitis such as yours can be treated at home."

"Complications?" she asked, confused.

"Seizure, for example," the doctor said, shrugging. "Or if your temperature increases and your headaches continue."

Sara nodded. "Antibiotics?"

"Ah, only for bacterial meningitis. Take something OTC for your headache and stay hydrated. In a day or two, you'll be feeling much better." He handed her a tiny paper cup of what looked like Tylenol and a larger cup full of water. "Here you go."

Sara swallowed the pills and grimaced. A day or two? They were leaving for New York in less than forty-eight hours. "Two days?"

"And you'll be ready to go back to work in two weeks," Dr. Shaw smiled, patting her shoulder.

Sara's head fell back against her pillow in defeat. Two weeks off. Two weeks and they weren't going to be spent in New York. Her stomach tightened at the thought of having to tell Brenda their trip was cancelled. The little girl had been so excited for so long. Sara anticipated her disappointment with a heavy heart.

"Shall I call your family in now?"

She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "Yeah, I guess so."

TBC…

OT: I totally suggest you watch _Coldplay_'s "Fix You" video. It has me all weepy and elated at the same time.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

The nurse was prepping Sara for her transfer from the ER to her own room when Brenda and Grissom appeared at the doorway. The harsh hospital lighting made the two look as pale and sallow as Sara knew she appeared. Brenda's hair glowed like a halo while Grissom's looked surprisingly white under the florescent glare.

She smiled at them in an attempt to ease the tension that was pulled tight across their faces. Sara moved to hold out her hand and then winced as her IV got snagged on the metal bed frame. When she glanced up at the doorway again, she saw Brenda's face was stained with tears as she cried quietly. Forsaking the pain in her arm, Sara sat up quickly, more alert than she had been in the past twenty-four hours.

"Brenda, I'm fine," she exclaimed, holding out her hands again until her daughter walked up to her, still crying. Sara hugged the little girl tight, summoning up all of her strength to lift Brenda up onto the bed and into her lap. She buried her face in her mother's neck, her wet, hot tears soaking through the material of the hospital gown. "Hey," Sara whispered softly, "I'm fine. You know what the doctor told me?" She waited for a response, but Brenda didn't budge. Her crying had subsided and Sara had a feeling the girl wasn't showing her face because she was embarrassed she cried in front of a stranger. "Well," Sara continued, trying her best to sound completely healthy, "Dr. Shaw told me to drink plenty of liquids and to take Tylenol if my head hurts."

Brenda sniffed and raised her head. "Why is there a tube going in your arm?"

Sara held her left hand out. "When I came in here, I was dehydrated because I had been throwing up all day," she explained slowly. "This tube is connected to the bag hanging right there." Sara pointed to the IV stand. "It's replenishing some of the liquid I lost. That's all. There's not even any medicine in it. The doctor said I didn't need any – just Tylenol for my headache." Out of the corner of her eye, Sara could see Grissom lean one hand against the wall and sigh.

Appeased for the moment, Brenda ran her finger around the skin where the needle entered Sara's arm. "Does it hurt?"

"I don't even feel it."

She sniffed, absentmindedly wiped her nose on Sara's shoulder, and leaned her head against it once more. "When can we go home?"

"Uh…um…hmm…you know what? I don't want you getting sick, too. Why don't you go to the bathroom and wash your hands?" she said, distracting the little girl momentarily and pointing to the room's private bathroom. "Okay?"

Brenda hopped off the bed and disappeared into the small bathroom. Sara kept her eyes on the door until it locked shut. She turned to Grissom who was quickly approaching her. "I have viral meningitis." His face turned white as a sheet. He opened his mouth to say something but she held up a hand, stopping him. "I'm going to be fine. I need you to do me a favor. Can you?"

"Y-yes. Yes, of course."

"I know this is asking a lot, but I need you to take Brenda home and keep her calm until tomorrow when I'm released. I don't want her thinking I'm going to die."

He gaped at her. "You're not, are you?"

"Of course not," she answered back quickly, her voice low. "But Brenda hasn't always had it easy, so she's come to expect the worst. I don't want her expecting the worst. Can you do this?"

"Yes."

"Good. Okay. Thank you." It was surreal. Just…beyond surreal. Grissom was agreeing to take her daughter – the daughter she had worked to keep from interacting with Grissom only a week earlier – and care for her for the next twelve hours until she was released from the hospital. Sara sighed. "I'm sorry about all of this. All the other people I would've left her with are on vacation right now. Even the babysitter," she said, rubbing her temple.

"It's no trouble."

For some reason, Sara didn't believe him. She ran a hand through her hair. "It's almost midnight. Brenda will probably fall asleep on the car ride home. Just…wake her up when you get there and she'll get ready for bed herself. You don't have to, like, read her a story or anything," she said, hoping to assuage any fears he had about caring for her child. "There's a guest room on the second floor," Sara added, referring to the room next to hers that currently housed all of her old bedroom furniture from her apartment. "Please, feel free to use that. I'd say stay in my bedroom – it's bigger – but it's probably a biohazard right now."

"Don't worry about me," he said quickly.

The bathroom door opened and Brenda walked out slowly. Sara tried to smile at her, but the little girl had obviously spent her time alone meditating on her mother's illness and not admiring the cleanliness of the hospital bathroom. "C'mere, kiddo," Sara said softly. Brenda walked slowly to her. "You're going to go home now and –"

"What about you?"

"I'm coming home tomorrow at noon. The doctor wants to make sure I'm hydrated and then he'll release me," Sara said slowly.

Fear was beginning to emanate from Brenda's being. "Can't I stay here with you? I could sleep on a chair."

Sara stroked her daughter's cheek. "Baby, you can't stay in the hospital. I need you to go home and get a good night's sleep, okay?"

"But who will go with me?"

"I will."

Both females looked at Grissom for a long moment. Brenda turned her head back to her mother quickly and her expression seemed to scream, _This__ guy? Are you serious?_

Sara smiled nervously at her daughter. "You guys can come and pick me up tomorrow and you and I will be together again in no time." She glanced at the clock on the wall and then turned to Grissom. "It's getting late. Can you just give me a couple of minutes to say goodnight to Brenda?"

He took the hint. "I'll…wait outside in the hall."

Both Sara and Brenda watched him exit, and mother turned to daughter when she was sure he was out of earshot. "Brenda," she said, her voice soft, "I need you to behave, okay? Be good for Gil." Sara paused for a moment, getting used to the sound of Grissom's first name on her lips. "He's my friend. And he's here to help."

Brenda was on the verge of rolling her eyes, but seemed to keep her attitude in check. "He's just so…"

"I know," Sara sighed. "He can be a little stiff. But I want to tell you something: he's the reason I'm in Las Vegas." This seemed to catch Brenda's attention, so Sara continued. "He asked me to come and help him with a case and when we were finished, he invited me to stay. Not too long after that, I met you. And it was his idea for me to stay with you that night. I told him I didn't know anything about kids, but he insisted I stick by your side." The little girl softened…a bit. "He is _not_ a dumb guy. He's a little different. He takes some getting used to. But he is very important to me. So…be good."

"I will."

"And when I get home..." Sara began.

"What?"

"Well…about New York…it doesn't look like we'll be going," she said, cringing.

Brenda shrugged. "Okay."

Sara's eyes widened. "Okay? You're not upset?"

"I'm just glad you're okay."

"Wow."

"What?"

Sara shook her head. "That's just…very mature of you. Hey, I must be doing a good job with you," she smiled, tweaking Brenda's nose. This time the girl did roll her eyes, laughing a bit. "We'll go to New York another time. When I'm not puking my guts out."

Brenda yawned. "Okay."

"Why don't you find Gil?"

Brenda disappeared into the hallway and came back with a very nervous-looking Grissom. "I think you guys should, uh, head home right now. You've got the house keys?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll, uh, call you on your cell phone once they put me in a room with a phone. I'll see you guys later." Sara gave them a small smile and squeezed Brenda's hand before hugging her tight. "Be good." She looked up at Grissom. "Thanks," she mouthed softly.

With that, her two favorite people left her alone. She was eventually given a room on the fourth floor. As Sara slipped into the cool, clean sheets, she wondered what Grissom and Brenda were up to.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Sara was waiting on pins and needles for Grissom and Brenda. Dr. Shaw had given her a list of dos and don'ts for the next two weeks and she was ready to be discharged. All that stood between her and freedom was Grissom and Brenda's arrival. Sara had called earlier to check up on things and to ask Brenda to pick an outfit for her to wear home. Though she was sure that Grissom could handle rooting through her underwear drawer for such a benign cause, Sara thought it was a good idea to involve Brenda, to give her a responsibility so she didn't feel out of the loop.

By a quarter to twelve, they came toting an overnight bag. Sara hugged and kissed her daughter and held on to her arm, keeping the girl between herself and Grissom. She didn't know how to greet him. Hospital stays usually merited hugs. When Nick had been discharged from the hospital after falling out of a window, both Warrick and Sara had given him hugs. She remembered hugging Greg when he was released after the lab explosion a couple of years ago. Sara didn't consider herself a touchy-feely person, but she liked hugs well enough. When she arrived on Las Vegas soil years earlier at the behest of Grissom, it never occurred to her that giving him a hug hello would've been out of the question. But for some reason, as they stood on the hot pavement surrounded by a crowd of people, an embrace just didn't seem right. And since then, both scientists had not been able to break the habit of awkward hellos.

She smiled nervously and took the bag from Brenda's hands. "I guess I'll go change."

The sweatpants and hoodie were blessedly comfortable, and she was thankful to be out of the papery thin, drafty hospital gown. Sara exited the bathroom and found the pair standing quietly, waiting for her. Grissom immediately took the bag from Sara's hands. "That must be heavy."

Surprised, she let him hold it. A nurse came with a wheelchair. Sara started to shake her head but stopped when she felt Brenda's hand on her wrist. "It's the rules."

Sighing, she took a seat in the chair. Grissom took his place behind her and wheeled her out into the hallway. "Are all the papers in order?"

Sara rubbed her temple, distressed at the awkwardness of being pushed in a wheelchair by Grissom while her daughter trotted alongside them. "Uh, yeah. I handled it before you guys came."

When they got to the main entrance of the hospital, Grissom clenched and unclenched his hands. "Um…you two wait here. I'll be back with the car."

"I can walk," Sara told him, getting up from the chair and motioning for an orderly to retrieve it.

Grissom looked distressed, but said nothing. The three made their way to the car. Sara could see he was keeping an eye on her, reminding her of a baker fearful his soufflé would collapse if anything sudden were to occur. The car ride started off quiet. Sara began to wonder if Grissom and Brenda had spent the last twelve hours in complete silence. Neither seemed to have anything to say.

Sara cleared her throat. "So…what did you guys do?"

"We bought you some Gatorade," Brenda volunteered.

"The, uh, doctor said you needed to stay hydrated," Grissom explained. "We went to the supermarket. I noticed there, uh, wasn't much in the refrigerator, so we bought some things."

Sara cringed. "I'm sorry. We were supposed to leave for New York tomorrow. I got rid of all our perishables."

"It was no trouble."

"I got some more Lucky Charms," Brenda sighed, staring out the window. "We ran out."

Nothing more was said. Grissom parked the car next to Sara's in the driveway and helped her out of her seat. He held on to her elbow and the two walked up to the front door with Brenda. After extracting the key from his pocket, Grissom opened the door and ushered Sara in.

"I'll go get you some Gatorade!" Brenda said, running into the kitchen.

Sara smiled as she watched her. "She thinks Gatorade is going to cure me."

They waited for her to return with a sports bottle. Sara took a few sips as her daughter looked on.

"Are you feeling better?"

"You bet." She took another drink and then sighed. "I really need to take a shower. Bren, do you think you could bring the overnight bag to the laundry room? That stuff needs to be washed pronto." The little girl picked up the leather bag and ran off to do as her mother asked. Sara turned to Grissom. "Thanks for doing all of this. You really didn't have to. How much do I owe you for the food?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

"Come on—"

"Sara, don't," he said firmly, and she left it at that.

"Did, uh, Brenda behave?"

"Yeah, she was fine."

Sara pursed her lips. "Look, you really don't have to stick around. I've got it covered from here."

"You could barely make it down the stairs yesterday," Grissom reminded her.

She didn't respond. He had a point. Sara felt she was over the worst of it, but she knew as well as he did that she had not yet fully recovered. Sighing, she began to walk towards the stairs and Grissom remained at her side, holding her arm as she made her way to her bedroom. "I really need to take a shower."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Sara held up a hand to silence him. "I feel gross. I'm taking a shower. Tell Brenda I'll be out soon if she asks."

She escaped into her bathroom, closing the door and weakly leaning against it. The day was only half over, but she felt more than ready for bed. Sara turned on the hot water and peeled off her clothes. The room fogged up in the slight, warm mist, frizzing her hair and giving her goosebumps. Sara immersed herself under the hot spray and reached for the bodywash. Squeezing a liberal amount onto her hands, she rubbed her skin raw, washing the stale hospital smell down the drain. She massaged the shampoo onto her scalp, feeling refreshed as the perfumed scent filled her nostrils. Sara stayed in the shower long after the soap had washed away. The hypnotizing feel of the water beating down on her body lulled her, quieting the aches in her joints. When the hot water began to drop in temperature, she reluctantly got out of the shower and wrapped herself up in her bathrobe. Sara squeezed out the excess moisture in her hair and put it up in a ponytail and out of her way. She stepped out of the hot, humid air of her bathroom and found Grissom smoothing clean sheets onto her bed.

He turned his head to look at her, eyes wide. "I'm sorry. I forgot to do this earlier."

Sara griped the neck of her bathrobe. "You didn't have to."

"I guess, I'll, uh…finish this after you get dressed."

She watched him go, closing the door as he left. She let her heart rate return to normal before fishing out underwear and pajamas from her drawers. Once dressed, Sara finished making the bed herself and then left the room to look for Brenda and Grissom. She found her daughter in her room, extracting a DVD from her computer and carefully labeling it.

"What's that?"

The girl shrugged, placing her homemade DVD in a plastic case. "Horton and stuff."

"Did you feed your fish?"

"Yeah, this morning."

"Are you hungry?"

"Gil and I had some McDonalds before we picked you up."

Sara leaned against the doorframe. "Do you want to watch a movie or something?"

Brenda looked up at her and smiled. "Sure."

It was decided they'd watch a movie of Brenda's choice in Sara's room. The little girl had just finished reading "The Secret Garden" and was eager to watch the film interpretation of the novel after noticing it was one of the many DVDs Sara had purchased before Brenda moved in. After retrieving it from a shelf in Brenda's room, they made their way to Sara's bedroom, running into Grissom in the hallway.

"We were, uh, just going to watch a movie," Sara explained.

He was carting a bottle of water and some Tylenol, along with a thermometer. "We should make sure you don't have a fever," he reminded her quietly.

She didn't protest for the sake of her daughter. They walked to Sara's room and she took the thermometer from his hands, slipping it under her tongue while Brenda popped the movie in the DVD player. She grabbed the remote and navigated her way through the menu while the two adults concentrated on reading the fine print on the thermometer.

"It's barely a hundred," Sara said.

"More like a hundred and one," Grissom countered.

She rolled her eyes and took three Tylenol, washing the small pills down with some water. "This should do the trick, then." She sat down on the bed next to Brenda. Grissom stood awkwardly for a moment. Sara looked up at him. "Umm…do you want to sit down?" she asked, moving over a little to make some room for him. He took a seat next to her, his legs turned to the side, his feet still planted on the floor as he tried to sit back. He looked supremely uncomfortable, as if he were riding sidesaddle.

Sara smiled at him tiredly and moved over some more. "Why don't you kick off your shoes and relax?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Grissom answered stiffly, remaining in the same position.

With nothing more to say, she shrugged and reclined against the pillows. Sara felt her eyes blink slowly as she tried to take in the plot of the movie. Each successive blink seemed to increase the weight of her eyelids until it was impossible for her to keep them open. She listened to the movie's sparse dialogue until exhaustion set in and opened her eyes once more as she felt her body being lifted.

She saw…plaid. The green material of Grissom's shirt was pressed up against her face as he raised her body up from the bed.

"Pull the comforter back," he whispered to Brenda, and Sara could only assume her daughter followed his instructions because she next found herself being lowered onto the clean sheets Grissom had put on the bed earlier. She stretched, leaning back into her pillow. "Go back to sleep," he told her softly.

Sara blinked up at him and then searched the darkened room for her daughter. "Brenda?" she asked, her voice hoarse from sleep and sickness.

"Yes, Mom?"

She reached out for the little girl, running a hand down the side of her arm. "Goodnight, baby."

Brenda bent down for a hug and whispered her goodnight, kissing the side of her mother's head. Both adults watched the tired little girl trudge off to her bedroom before turning to each other. Grissom seemed so tall as he hovered over Sara's bed. She reached out and covered one of his hands with hers, smiling. "Thank you."

He said nothing and soon disappeared under the weight of her once-again heavy eyelids.

TBC…


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The clock on her bedside table had Sara blinking in the darkness. It was a quarter past three in the morning and she was wide awake in bed with a dull headache. Throwing back the covers, she climbed off of her comfortable mattress and ambled into the dimly lit hallway. Grissom was nowhere to be seen, so Sara assumed he went home for some peace until she heard the soft rumble of his snore. Eyes wide, she walked to the open door of the guest bedroom and saw his body splayed out on her old bed. His loafers were by the nightstand, but otherwise, Grissom was fully clothed. She watched him for a long moment and then made her way to Brenda's room to check on her. Unlike Grissom, who seemed to do his best to take up every inch of the mattress, Brenda was curled into a corner of her bed, her comforter kicked off. Sara moved to cover the little girl once more, smoothing her pale hair before tucking it behind her ear and out of her face. She wandered around the room, stopping at the aquarium to lightly tap on the glass, hoping to attract the attention of little Horton. Brenda's desk was orderly as usual and Sara smiled at the preciseness of it all. Everything was just so. She flipped through the little girl's day planner, frowning when she saw a line crossed through 'Trip to NYC with Mom!'

They had been all set to leave that day. They would have touched down in New York on Wednesday afternoon, spent Thursday getting acquainted with the city and Friday celebrating Brenda's tenth birthday. Sara cringed when she realized she had no plans for Brenda's birthday now that they knew they were staying in Las Vegas. She sat down in the girl's desk chair, massaging her temple as she evaluated her situation. Taking Brenda somewhere that Friday was out of the question; she was still too sick and couldn't risk getting worse. And the presents…the trip was meant to be part of Brenda's birthday present, along with the camcorder and a few other trinkets Sara had hoped to pick up in New York. As it was, she had nothing, not even a birthday card to give her daughter.

Exhaling, Sara turned on Brenda's computer -- checking over her shoulder frequently to make sure didn't wake the girl -- and trolled through the internet for gifts to order. The world wide web was entirely too big to tackle without a map, so she referred back to Brenda's day planner for her itinerary. The girl had a list of places she planned on visiting, and Sara scanned it for names of stores. Recognizing the famed FAO Schwarz, she immediately looked it up and found the toy store's website. Sara added the store's signature stuffed bear to her shopping cart, along with a CHEM 2000 kit and a giant Erector space center. After choosing next day air mail, she looked on Brenda's list for another store. Among the museums and landmarks was a doll store Sara had recalled Norah tell Brenda about weeks earlier. After managing to find the site, she spent the next half hour scrutinizing the selection of dolls, finally ending up with one that looked a great deal like Brenda. After furnishing it with several accessories, Sara placed her order and sat back, her anxiety eased a bit. She sighed, clumsily putting the day planner back on the shelf, knocking down some other things in the process.

"Shit!" she whispered loudly, and turned around lightening-fast to see Brenda sigh loudly, scratch her nose, and dig her face in her pillow. Sara licked her lips and picked up the fallen objects, pausing to glance at the label on a DVD.

"Horton and…Gil?" said aloud, confused. The words were indeed in Brenda's handwriting. She found a pair of headphones in the drawer and popped the DVD into the disk drive. For ten minutes, Sara sat watching almost silent footage of her daughter's bright orange goldfish explore his tank. She heard a knock at the door and immediately glanced at Brenda's doorway. It was empty. Looking back at the screen, Sara realized the sounds were coming from the home movie.

"Brenda?" came Grissom's voice softly from the hallway.

The camera jerkily swayed from the fish to the door. Brenda's could be heard but not seen. "Come in."

The door opened slightly and Grissom peeked his head in. "Um…oh, good. You're dressed. Well, um…it's eight o'clock and we'll be picking up your mom in a few hours. There's, uh…not much food in the kitchen so I thought we could go to the store and pick some stuff up."

"Okay."

Grissom pressed his lips together. His hair looked wet, as if he had showered, but he was wearing the clothes he wore Monday night. She guessed they stopped at his home at one point on the way to pick her up from the hospital so he could change. Sara watched him nervously run a hand through his wet hair; she could see he was more than uncomfortable. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"No." The camera turned back to the fish.

Sara half expected that to be the end of it. She was mildly shocked to once again hear Grissom's shaky voice. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," came Brenda's reply. "I don't eat when I'm nervous."

"W-why are you nervous?"

The camera turned once again on Grissom as he stood at Brenda's side. The upwards angle did him no favors, but as he fearfully tried his best to reach out to her daughter, Sara had never thought him more handsome. "I'm scared for my mom."

"She'll be fine. You heard what the doctor said," he reminded her consolingly. "All she needs is rest and some fluids."

"She's in the hospital. I don't like that."

"I don't either," Grissom said honestly, and the camera turned once again on the aquarium. "What's your fish's name?"

"Horton."

"After _Horton Hears A Who_?" he asked.

"It was the first book my mom read to me."

Sara felt confusion followed by an acute pain in her heart. She was well aware that Brenda lived with a family for the first four years of her life, but it hurt to hear the girl she thought of has her daughter refer to someone else as Mom.

"Is that your favorite book?" Grissom asked.

"No," Brenda answered, focusing once again on the man next to her. "It was just a book at the hospital."

_The hospital? _Sara wracked her brains. _When was Brenda at the hos…._

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she recalled the time spent with Brenda years earlier, remembering her desperate attempt to entertain and distract her while they waited for a psych consult. They drew pictures and unsuccessfully attempted to play with dolls. Finally, Sara had picked up the first book on the waiting room table and opened it. The loud crack of the spine seemed to call out to the four-year-old and she walked over and managed to sit in peace for twenty minutes while Sara read aloud to her.

Relief poured over her as she watched Brenda and Grissom continue their conversation.

"What is your favorite book, then?"

"_Little Women_."

"Ah, just like your mom," Grissom said.

They were quiet for a few moments, the lens still on him, when Brenda finally reciprocated. "What's your favorite book?"

"I am a big fan of Dr. Seuss myself: _The Cat in the Hat_."

Sara frowned immediately. She had received the same glib answer from Grissom when she asked that question months earlier. She leaned forward.

Brenda didn't share her mother's annoyance. She waited a moment before asking, "Why is it your favorite?"

Grissom shrugged. "Because it's the last book my mother ever read to me."

Sara's arms fell to her sides, dead weight dragging her down. She couldn't breathe at first, but began gasping for air as Brenda asked the question she feared.

"Did she die?"

"No," Grissom said simply to Sara's relief. "My mother went deaf when I was five. By that time, I was old enough to read things by myself."

Sickness washed over her. When he had told her his favorite book, she dismissed it as a joke. He was being honest with her, letting her in, but she shut him out. Sara was beginning to realize Grissom was much more delicate than she realized.

"Didn't your dad read to you?" Brenda asked.

"My parents got divorced when I was little. I didn't see my dad very often," he explained.

The trill of a telephone had Grissom reaching into his pocket. He glanced at the display. "That's your mom calling. Why don't you answer?" Brenda's small hand reached out to grab the phone from him and the screen went blank.

After taking a few deep breaths and shutting off Brenda's computer, she left her daughter's room, pondering all that she had learned on the homemade DVD. Grissom's mother was deaf. His parents divorced when he was young and he was raised by his deaf mother. He told this to Brenda as if it were common knowledge, yet her mother had no idea. She couldn't tell if this new information was a piece of the puzzle that was Gil Grissom, or if it just made him more of a mystery to her. Those two new facts didn't explain everything, far from it. Sara couldn't tell if Grissom had built his sheltered life as a result of his upbringing or if his propensity towards being an extreme introvert was just part of who he was. She leaned against the wall, massaging her forehead as she contemplated what it all meant.

"What are you doing?"

TBC…


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: FOX cancelled Arrested Development. This is the form my grief is taking.

Chapter 36

"Are you okay?"

Sara looked up and blinked in the darkness. Grissom was standing in front of her, his hair mussed from sleep.

"Sara, are you okay?" he repeated, placing the back of his hand gently on her forehead. "You don't seem to have much of a fever anymore."

She pulled backed slowly. "I'm fine. Don't worry."

"What are you doing up? You should be in bed," he said, taking her by the arm to lead her back to her room.

"I was just…checking up on Brenda. I haven't spent much time with her," she told him.

"You should rest," he said quietly. "Brenda is fine. She's sleeping. You can spend time with her when she's awake."

Sara rolled her eyes as they stood at the entrance to her bedroom. "Yeah, I know. But I'm not tired right now. Actually, I could…"

"What?"

"I could go for something to eat."

He seemed almost excited about this. They walked down to the kitchen and he told her about the food that had been purchased earlier that day. "I don't think you should have anything heavy," he said her when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Sara felt his hand on the small of her back and tensed. Grissom turned his head to look at her. "How about some toast?"

She gave him a small smiled and nodded. His warm hand left her back and she felt the absence. Sara sat down at the kitchen table and watched him make her toast and tea. He seemed to find his way around after an initial awkwardness. "Do…do you think you could handle anything on your toast? Or would you rather have it plain?" he asked, getting a plate from one of the cupboards.

Sara pressed her lips together. "I, uh, think we have some jam in the fridge." She moved to get up, but he got to the refrigerator first.

"Grape or strawberry?"

He sat down with her and watched her eat. It was uncomfortable at first. Grissom watched her take each bite and Sara felt like she was on display, an animal in a zoo. She wanted to ask him about his mother, about his parents' divorce, but decided against it. He looked in no shape for an interrogation. Still, if he wanted to keep his life a secret, telling a pre-teen personal details wasn't the best way to go about it. She wondered if he was afraid she'd judge him, or if he just plain didn't trust her. It hurt to know she'd shamelessly revealed all of her family secrets to a man who never mentioned his mother was deaf.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked, leaning forward.

She nodded and said nothing, choosing instead to take a sip of tea.

Grissom scratched his chin. "Brenda, uh…seems to love you very much."

Sara let out a laugh, coughing up her toast. "I should hope so."

He looked alarmed. "I didn't mean it like that. I only meant that…that you two seem very well suited to one another. You're very good this."

"This, what?"

"Motherhood."

She raised her eyebrows. "You haven't really seen me with Brenda -- healthy, I mean. I've pretty much been…horizontal."

"Well, from what I've seen…" he shrugged, turning red. Sara scolded herself for not graciously accepting his compliment. "She likes to talk about you."

She was intrigued. "Oh. Um…what did she say?"

"Nothing bad. She just…is very enthusiastic about you. She was quiet for most of the morning until we got the supermarket," Grissom explained, "and then I got to hear all about how you don't like mangos and how you taught her to pit an avocado. It was…enlightening."

"Ah."

"She's not the same girl from the case. She's…blossomed. She's a little you now."

Sara's eyes were wide. "Wow. That's quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

He looked down at his hands, folding and unfolding the napkin in front of him. "Was it difficult for you?"

"Difficult?"

"Becoming a…mother." It seemed hard for him to get the word out. "Was it a big transition for you?"

She considered his question. He wasn't meeting her eyes and she had to wonder if Grissom felt a bit guilty for not being there for her after she told him about the adoption. "Um…yes and no. Getting used to living with another person -- adjusting my schedule, not working so much -- that was easier than I thought. I finally looked forward to coming home because I knew that I wouldn't be…alone. But, uh…other stuff -- the second-guessing, the worrying that I'd make a wrong decision and ruin her life -- that was hard at first."

"At first?"

"Well, you sort of feel your way around it," Sara explained. "You get better at trusting yourself. This one weekend I actually had, uh, two parenting epiphanies. Earlier this summer, Brenda got a stomach virus. She was throwing up constantly, couldn't keep a thing down. It started Friday night and went on for two more days. And somewhere around the fourth hour of projectile vomiting, I realized that I could do this. I wasn't freaking out. I was keeping her calm. I knew…I knew I was good at this. Maybe not at being a mother, but being _her _mother. I knew we'd be okay."

Grissom stared at her. "What was the second epiphany?"

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Oh, uh. Um…around Sunday morning, Brenda was well enough to return to bed and I sat there for hours just…rubbing her back and telling her she'd be okay. And then I realized…" her voice trailed off. She felt tears in her eyes and tried desperately to hold them back.

"You realized what?"

"I…I guess I realized that I deserved this, too." She shrugged. "I remember you told me something about rationalization, and how we all use it to get through each day. I used it to get through my life. I grew up…_convincing _myself that my childhood wasn't so bad, that a person didn't need to grow up in a normal household, that happy families were overrated." Sara swallowed the lump in her throat and continued. "I deserved what I'm giving Brenda now…when I was her age, I mean. It's not like I'm trying to make up for it by being her mother or relive my childhood through her," she said quickly. "That morning, it suddenly hit me -- what I was missing, I mean. I spent twenty-five years telling myself I didn't miss out, that life started when I turned eighteen and it's kind of…hard…to admit to yourself that you were lacking. Or at least, it was hard for _me _to admit to _my_self that I was lacking. I don't like to think of myself as deficient."

"You're not."

She smiled sadly at him. "Well, parts of me are. Parts of me that you probably don't see."

"I see everything, Sara," Grissom said, his voice oddly calm. "You're perfect."

Arms crossed over her chest protectively, she stared at her lap and bit her lip. "I wish we were looking through the same lens." He leaned closer as if he were preparing to say something quite personal, but Sara stood up straight before he could open his mouth. "I'm very tired all of a sudden," she lied.

He looked up at her, his eyes deceptively naïve. "Oh."

"I really should get back to bed." She tucked in her chair and began picking up her plate.

"I'll clean up," he told her, taking a hold of her wrist with one hand and prying the dirty dish from her fingers with another. "You go upstairs."

Sara let go and walked to the door. She heard the water start to run in the faucet and turned around. "Thank you, Grissom."

TBC…


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: I hope everyone who celebrated Thanksgiving had a nice time.

Chapter 37

When she woke late the next morning, Grissom had on fresh clothes and was stationed at the kitchen table, his laptop open, the light from the screen illuminating his face.

"Good morning," Sara said, still feeling fatigued though she got more than her share of sleep.

He looked up at her. "Good morning. Are you hungry?"

She shrugged her shoulders and walked up to him. "What are you doing? Work?" she asked, glancing at the computer screen. Sara drew her brows together as she tried to read the fine print.

"I'm, uh…researching meningitis," he confessed. "Just double-checking to make sure you get everything you need."

"Grissom, you don't have to--"

"The hospital called," he said, interrupting her. "Their lab has the results from your spinal tap."

"What'd they say?" Sara asked, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

He closed his laptop. "I don't know. They asked to speak with you."

"Oh." She watched him carefully place his laptop back in its case. "Where's Brenda? She wasn't in her room."

"The library."

Sara was glad to escape Grissom, if only for a moment. Their late night exchange had left her uncomfortable, and had obviously made him uneasy as well. He barely made eye contact with her. She supposed he wanted to go home. He had been with them since Monday night, had not slept in his own bed for two nights straight. A book lay waiting for him to finish at home. He had left work to write it. It had to be important to him, a top priority.

And yet here he was, playing nursemaid.

She opened the door to the library and found Brenda on a chair with a book in her lap. "Hey, kid."

The girl looked up and smiled. "Hey."

Sara took a seat on the arm of the oversized chair. "What are you reading?"

"Uh…_To Kill A Mockingbird_. It's on my booklist for fifth grade."

"Good book," she said, shifting a bit on the chair. Brenda went back to her reading and Sara watched her, a little wary about where the novel would take her daughter and the subjects it would bring up. Harper Lee's classic started out innocently enough -- three young children investigate a mysterious, housebound neighbor in a sleepy Southern town -- nothing that would give Brenda nightmares. The trial of Tom Robinson, Sara was sure, would lead to several discussions about injustice, the civil rights movement, and prejudice in general. That, she could handle, and she knew Brenda was mature and compassionate enough to be able to feel her way through that part of the novel.

It was the abuse Mayella Ewell suffered at the hands of her father that had beads of sweat gathering at Sara's hairline, the fear instilled in the fictional young woman that had her accusing an innocent man of rape.

"I've got a good idea," she said, interrupting Brenda's reading. The girl looked up at her mother. "Why don't we read this book together? I haven't read it in a long time."

Brenda was skeptical. "Do you think I'm not smart enough to read it?"

Sara choked on her shock. "N-no! No, Brenda! I like reading with you," she said, not telling the complete truth. "I have off for two weeks. It'll be fun."

"Okay," the girl said, placated. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Much better. Thank you." She ruffled Brenda's hair. "Did you eat breakfast?"

"Lucky Charms."

Sara rolled her eyes. "I'm waking up early tomorrow and we can make pancakes."

She smiled and left the girl to her book, reminding herself to catch up on Brenda's reading so they could study the novel together and so that Sara could field questions as they came. She knew she was being overprotective, but she had no idea how not to be. Sara supposed it would lessen to a more normal level over time.

She wandered back into the kitchen and found Grissom washing Brenda's cereal bowl. "You can go home, you know. We're fine." She tilted her head and smiled gently at him. "Thank you very much…for everything. But you don't have to stay here. I can wash a dish."

"Sara, it's nothing--"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "you're taking off all this time from work to write and you're spending it here doing my housework. Really, you don't have to," she told him firmly, yet appreciatively. Sara loved him for being there, but knew taking care of his former co-worker and her daughter had not been how Grissom planned to spend his time away from the lab.

"You have meningitis," he stated slowly and evenly, pronouncing each syllable carefully.

"Had. I _had _meningitis," she insisted.

He stared at her. "Do you have any idea how serious meningitis is? It can be fatal."

"I had viral meningitis," she told him. "It's the mild form of--"

"_Mild_?" For the first time in a long time, Grissom looked angry. "Sara, two days ago, you looked…you looked…I never saw you like that. You could barely walk." He seemed flustered, unable to form coherent sentences without stopping and starting again.

"It was bad," she acknowledged. "I was very sick. And you helped me. And now I'm--"

"Don't say fine," he interrupted. "You're not fine."

"I'm pretty damn close," she sighed, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Though Sara was far from her normal, healthy self, she was light-years better than she was two days ago. But she didn't see Grissom budging in the foreseeable future. "Do you want to help me?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"Okay. Brenda's birthday is on Friday. I had planned to buy her presents when we were in New York but as you know…that's not going to happen. I ordered some stuff online last night and it should be here tomorrow, so that's taken care of," Sara explained to Grissom's apparent relief. She could tell he had been afraid she would ask him to go to the mall and pick out presents for Brenda. Sara smiled to herself at the thought of him wandering through different stores, completely clueless as to what to buy a ten-year-old girl. "All I need is a birthday card and some wrapping paper. Nothing fancy. And, if you can, pick up an ice cream cake. She likes those. That'll keep a couple of days in the freezer until Friday."

"Is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Okay," he said, wiping his hands on a nearby dishtowel. "Card, wrapping paper, cake. Got it. Anything else?"

She smiled at him and shook her head. "No, Grissom. Thank you, though. I appreciate it."

Once he was out the door, Sara breathed a sigh of relief. Having Grissom in her home for so long made her self-conscious. They had never spent any extended period of time in each other's company outside of work. Almost always, there had been the buffer of a case between them to refer back to when the personal stuff got too intense. She took a quick shower and then searched for something to wear, horrified to find a laundry basket brimming with her folded, recently washed clothes by the side of her bed. On top of the unembarrassing T-shirts and jeans were her neatly folded panties, tiny squares of shiny silk and satin.

He had seen her underwear.

Sara could feel her face grow hot at the thought of Grissom meticulously folding each pair. She put the clothes, basket and all, in her closet and closed the door. After dressing and drying her hair, she and Brenda started work on a puzzle, a one thousand piece picture of a Cape Cod seascape, clichéd lighthouse and all. Spread out on the dining room table, the two worked industriously, building the frame of the picture with the edges and then working their way in.

Sara heard the front door open and close. She called out to Grissom, "We're in the dining room," hoping he'd get the message and deposit the cake in the freezer before Brenda could see it. A minute or so later he walked into the dining room empty handed. Sara smiled at him. "So…we're doing a puzzle."

"I see that."

"It's got a thousand pieces," Brenda said primly.

Grissom took a seat. "That is impressive." After a few minutes, he picked up a random piece from their pile labeled 'sky' and fit it into the frame.

"Nice work," Sara smiled. "Only eight hundred or so more to go." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Brenda eye him skeptically. He was an intruder, and she sensed Grissom got the point because he stood up a moment later.

"I'm…going to go check my voicemail."

Nothing more was said and Sara and Brenda worked steadily for the next hour and a half until pangs of hunger and savory scents wafting in from the kitchen had them following their noses. They found Grissom stirring a large pot.

"Is that…chili?" Sara asked.

"Vegetarian chili," he said, nodding. "I picked some up at a restaurant by my house. I'm just warming it up now."

"Wow. Thank you."

His eyes remained fixed on the spoon stirring the fiery red concoction. "You're welcome."

Sara stealthily tapped Brenda on the shoulder and the girl got the point. "Yes, thank you, Gil. It smells very good."

"You're welcome," he repeated. Grissom got out two large bowls and ladled chili into them, setting them down on the kitchen table.

"Aren't you going to have some, too?" Sara asked quizzically.

"No. No, I'm fine." He got out a large loaf of Italian bread and proceeded to slice it. "Sit. It's getting cold."

They took their seats and Brenda dug in, but Sara kept her eyes on Grissom. "Aren't you going to sit with us? Unless you have work to do, of course."

He stood in front of her, debating his options. "Okay," he said slowly, taking his seat carefully, as if one false move would set off explosives.

She could see both Brenda and Grissom were uncomfortable, and that the only thing keeping Grissom glued to his seat was loyalty. Brenda's eyes were on her food, but the moment he joined them at the table, she didn't seem as interested in her chili as she had been at first.

Stressed, Sara fumbled for conversation. "Brenda's birthday is on Friday," she informed Grissom, though having just purchased the girl's birthday cake, he obviously already knew.

"Is that so? H-how old will you be?"

Brenda looked up at him. "Ten."

"Ten. Wow. I remember being ten. Ten was a fun age."

"How old are you now?"

Sara cringed.

"Forty-nine," Grissom answered, leaving Sara perplexed. _Forty-nine?_ He was only forty-eight. She was sure of that…

_Oh, shit._

"It's your birthday today, isn't it?" she stated numbly, feeling utterly dumb and insensitive for sending him out to buy birthday cake and a card for someone else without ever having wished him a happy birthday.

"Yes."

"Happy birthday," she said softly.

"Yeah, happy birthday," Brenda repeated, licking the back of her spoon. "So you were…thirty-nine when I was born," she said, doing the math in her head.

"Yes, I was."

"What's more fun, being thirty-nine or forty-nine?"

Grissom shrugged. "To tell you the truth…they don't feel all that different. I'm pretty much as I've always been."

"You didn't always have a beard," Brenda noted. "The last time I saw you, you didn't have one."

"No, I didn't."

"Why did you grow one?"

"I felt like it."

"Are you going to grow it long?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it would get in the way."

Sara sat back, quite stunned at the turn the conversation had taken. For all intents and purposes, it sounded like a job interview.

"Are you going to shave it?"

"I don't know. Do you think I should?"

It was Brenda's turn to shrug. "It's up to you."

Grissom rubbed his chin self-consciously. Sara smiled sympathetically. "I like it."

TBC…


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Sara watched Grissom clean the dishes in the sink from her seat at the table. Brenda had long since disappeared into her room, leaving the two adults alone.

"We have a dishwasher, you know," Sara told Grissom. "You don't have to wash everything."

He placed a clean bowl on the drying rack on the counter. "It's no trouble."

She cleared her throat. "You got the cake?"

"It's in the freezer. And, uh, I put the wrapping paper and cards in the front hall closet," he explained as he ran a soapy sponge over a tablespoon.

"Cards?"

"Yeah, I, uh…there were so many. I wasn't sure which one you would like. I got a few."

"Oh...thank you," she said belatedly. For a moment Sara had suspected he purchased a birthday card to give Brenda himself. It wasn't a terrible thought -- it would've been a sweet gesture, in fact -- and from anyone else that's all it would've been...but Grissom's every action was loaded, by Sara's way of thinking. Perhaps it was because she had studied him for so long and perhaps it was because his actions were few and far between, but everything he did gave her pause. And, likewise, everything he didn't do gave her pause.

But it was much too confusing for her weary brain to ponder now. He finished washing the dishes and then looked at her for a cue as to what to do next. She gave him a small smile. "You probably have to work on your book. You really can go home now. Grissom, I promise you, I'm feeling better." He said nothing, just kept his hands at his sides. "And...I promise I'll call you if I feel worse. Really. You've been such a big help so far. I don't want to put you out any longer."

"It's okay, really --"

"I know, I know, you keep saying that," she said, forcing a smile. "But...your textbook isn't going to write itself." Sara sighed and inspected her fingernails so she wouldn't have to look at him. That damn textbook. The textbook that was more important than work, and therefore, more important than her. It was silly to be jealous of a book that had yet to be written, but it still stung. Grissom would be dedicating hours to a task that took him away from the job he refused to jeopardize a year earlier.

"I...I guess I could go now," he said. "Would you -- would you promise to call if you need anything?"

"Sure," she nodded.

He quickly gathered his things. Sara walked him to the door. "Thank you...for everything. Really," she said when he opened his mouth to talk, "I appreciate it."

Grissom pursed his lips. "You're welcome."

He stood for a moment awkwardly before opening the front door and stepping outside. He glanced at her once more and then piled into his car and left. She stood at the door long after he was gone, feeling the hot August air compete with the air-conditioned breeze coming from her house.

Sara heard the creak of footsteps on the stairs behind her.

"Mom?"

She kept her gaze steady on the expanse in front of her. "Mm-hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

Sara shrugged and then turned to look at Brenda. "Nothing. What's up?"

"I was just answering Martin's e-mail. He says he hopes you're feeling better. Where's Gil?"

"He went home," she said, and then turned to look at the now-vacant spot where Grissom's car had been parked before closing the door.

"Oh. Can we finish the puzzle?"

They worked into the night, completing the rather tacky seascape picture about an hour and a half after Brenda's usual bedtime. The little girl slept in the following morning, a lucky break for Sara who was able to sign for Brenda's birthday gifts without her questioning the purchases. The large brown boxes were quickly stowed away in the spare bedroom next to Sara's. The rest of the day was spent in deep discussion over the themes presented in _To Kill A Mockingbird_. Unlike their conversations regarding _Little Women_, a book that tempered its sorrows with joy, both mother and daughter spoke about Harper Lee's classic with utter sobriety. Brenda was keenly aware of Boo Radley's standing as a social outcast and, unlike the children in the book, immediately empathized with him.

When they reached the trial of Tom Robinson, Sara was initially put off by the strange calm that settled over her daughter. Unlike Scout, who was confused by the goings on surrounding the trial, Brenda seemed to embody the stoic Atticus Finch. Right and wrong were so clear to her.

"Tom and Boo are the same person, aren't they?" she asked, staring straight ahead.

Sara looked down at the book in her hands, confused by Brenda's question. "No, honey, Boo is the neighbor and Tom is --"

"I mean, they're both...they're innocent," the girl explained, trying hard to put her thoughts into words. "They didn't do anything and to...to...persecute them is...it's wrong."

"It is."

Brenda's hard-earned maturity brought tears to Sara's eyes. She was quite sure the word "persecute" came from the hours Brenda spent quizzing Martin on his vocabulary, but the thoughts were all her little girl's. Right and wrong, guilty and innocent and all the gray areas in between were part of Brenda's vocabulary.

It was midnight when they came to the chapter where Boo kills Bob Ewell to save Jem and Scout. Why Sheriff Tate does not report the true nature of Ewell's death needed no explanation for Brenda.

"My sister did that."

Sara swallowed the lump in her throat. "Excuse me?"

"My sister killed him. She killed him so he wouldn't hurt me," Brenda said blankly, her voice steady.

"Yes. Yes, she did," Sara answered, her own voice a faint whisper.

Brenda fiddled with the tassels on the throw pillow in her lap. "The night it happened, she told me it was all going to be over. I...I just realized what she meant."

Sara was at a loss for words. Raising Brenda was not altogether different than walking in a minefield. A false step could trigger a bomb, leaving them both to deal with the repercussions if they managed to survive the explosion.

"She killed them. All of them. She killed them," the girl repeated, as if she needed to get used to the words coming out of her mouth.

"She had her boyfriend kill them, yes," Sara answered. She rubbed her temple, feeling a massive headache come on that hand nothing to do with meningitis. "Brenda, she did it because...she loved you. She wanted to protect you." It felt odd to defend the actions of a killer.

"I know."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Is she in jail?"

Sara nodded.

"For how long?"

Fear gripped her. She found herself wondering if Brenda hoped to return to the young woman she believed was her sister. It sickened her, the thought of losing her little girl. "She's going to be in there...forever."

Brenda nodded. "I thought so."

"Are you...are you confused?"

Scratching the top of her head absentmindedly, Brenda met Sara's eyes. "Yes."

"Well...what--what are you confused about?"

"She did what she did to protect me. I understand that."

Sara nervously clenched and unclenched her hands. "What don't you understand?"

"Why she had to kill all of them."

The subject ventured into territory Sara wasn't prepared to go with Brenda just quite yet. Tina Collins' reasons for murdering her brothers and mother had more to do with her own abuse than it did the abuse inflicted on Brenda. She didn't want to make Tina seem petty, but she didn't want to make the young woman a hero, either. Tina's reasons for resorting to violence closely mirrored Laura Sidle's -- too closely for Sara's comfort. And yet...she knew sharing more of her past with Brenda was the only way to help the little girl come to terms with the horror that shattered her early life.

"Do you remember when I told you that my mother killed my father because he used to hurt her?"

"Yes."

"Well...sometimes a situation gets so bad and a person feels so trapped that they don't see any option other than violence. That's what happened to my mother. And that's what happened to your sister. They were trapped and they didn't know how else to end the...the bad things that were going on. It's a tragedy, Brenda," she said, reaching out to take hold of the little girl's hand. "It is truly a tragedy that life can get so bad for some people that their only way out is to hurt someone else."

"Do you think that will happen to me?"

"No!" Sara exclaimed emphatically. "No. Of course not."

"Why?"

"Because...because you've got me to look out for you. Whenever life gets tough, I'm going to be there for you when you need me. And I'm going to be there for you when you don't need me. I'm pretty much going to be there all the time, so get used to it," she said, poking Brenda's stomach playfully with an index finger. She sighed. "My mother didn't have anyone to look out for her. And your sister saw that the people whose job it was to protect you weren't doing a very good job. I'm never going to let that happen to you. I promise that."

"I know," Brenda said, and seemed absolutely assured that no such harm would ever befall her again under Sara's care. "Is it bad that I'm happy she did it? Well, not happy," Brenda said, correcting herself. "I'm..."

"Relieved?"

"Yes. Yes," Brenda said, nodding. "If she didn't do what she did...I don't know what my life would be like. It wouldn't be good."

"Brenda, it's okay to be grateful that she protected you," Sara said softly. "I know it might not seem like you should because she broke the law and hurt other people, but...it's okay to appreciate the fact that she loved you."

"She loved me and now she's in prison."

It was guilt that Sara saw creeping across her daughter's countenance, and she quickly nipped it in the bud. "Brenda, your sister made those choices and part of the deal of making choices is accepting the consequences. It..._stinks_...that both you and she were put in a situation where the choices were limited, but you _cannot_ feel like you did anything wrong, or that you don't deserve to be happy. Brenda, she did what she did so you could be happy."

The little girl sighed. "I know."

"You're in charge of your own choices," Sara explained. "What you choose to do with your life is up to you. And I think that you're going to make the right choices, Bren. I really do."

"I'm going to try."

"That's all I ask," she said, smiling. Sara checked her watch. "You, Miss Brenda, are ten years old now," she informed her, noting the time. "Let's get you to bed."

She stood up, stretching her legs and offering a hand to Brenda to do the same. They walked up the stairs to the little girl's room where fatigue finally seemed to set in for the new ten-year-old.

"Happy birthday," Sara whispered, placing a kiss on the top of Brenda's head. "Goodnight."

"'Night, Mom," Brenda said, eyes closed and barely awake.

Sara smiled as she made her way down the stairs. It was time to wrap the presents. She opened the door to the hall closet and found a large shopping bag tucked away behind the coats. Sara brought it upstairs to the room Grissom had used during his stay there. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over the comforter. He slept there. It was odd, she knew, to revere a sleeping place used by someone other than Abraham Lincoln or George Washington, but Sara wondered what the harm would be if she slept in her old bed for the night. Just for one night.

She sighed and got to work on the presents. Grissom had purchased three large rolls of birthday themed wrapping paper, and almost all was put to use. Sara wrapped Brenda's new doll and the trove of accessories that the website deemed "absolutely essential" for any little girl. She happily wrapped the deluxe chemistry set, knowing she'd get as much fun out of it -- if not more -- as Brenda would. The boxes piled up impressively and Sara quietly carted them in to Brenda's bedroom so she could wake up to her presents.

She returned to the guestroom to pick a card out of the assortment Grissom had purchased. Reaching deep into the shopping bag, Sara felt around for the cards but instead found a plastic bag. Lifting it out, she recognized the Barnes & Noble emblem and quickly emptied its contents onto the rug.

_Horton Hears a Who_.

In the right hand corner on the cover was a yellow post-it with the words "For Brenda" scribbled out in familiar handwriting.

Sara opened it, shuddering at the crack of the spine as she gazed on pages she hadn't seen in five years. Placing the book back into the bag, she numbly found the selection of cards and chose one at random, filling it in and returning to Brenda's room to place it on a nightstand. She climbed into her old bed, inhaling the trace scent on the pillow and wondering if it was, in fact, Grissom or the fabric softener she used.

At least for tonight, she would pretend.

TBC…


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Props to mystery!

Chapter 39

Brenda's tenth birthday was a quiet success. Mother and daughter laughed and played and devoured the ice cream cake Grissom had purchased. Sara could feel her body slowly regain the pounds she lost while sick as she sliced another piece and dug into it. Her little girl was deliriously happy. Their conversation the night before hadn't put a damper on the celebration. Brenda's friends called long-distance to wish her a happy birthday, making an already ecstatic girl practically burst with joy. As the day winded down, they relaxed in Brenda's room surrounded by her gifts. Doll in hand, the little girl flipped idly through the chemistry set instruction manual while Sara half watched a cheesy TV movie and used Brenda's new stuffed bear as a pillow.

Brenda got up from her spot and went to feed her fish. Her mother blinked at the sight and immediately remembered Grissom's gift in the other room. Sara slowly got up and walked to the guest bedroom, retrieving the book tentatively. She presented it to Brenda, whose face remained carefully blank.

"This is from Gil. He, uh, got you this," Sara explained, thrusting _Horton Hears A Who _out in front of her.

The girl took it and looked from the book to her mother, and back to the book again. "That was nice of him," she said quietly. "Will you read it to me?"

Eyes wide, Sara nodded and the two sat down at the window seat. Brenda leaned on her shoulder as she turned the cover and cleared her throat.

"On the fifteenth of May, in the Jungle of Nool, In the heat of the day, in the cool of the pool, He was splashing…enjoying the jungle's great joys…When Horton the elephant head a small noise…"

They had been there before, sitting together, reading the same lines. But so much had been different. She could see herself five years earlier, a single woman in her 20s, new to Las Vegas and ready for excitement. Reading to Brenda had been awkward at first. She felt it oddly disconcerting to hear her voice -- usually spouting off some scientific mumbo-jumbo or police jargon -- rhyming silly words about a curious elephant. But the girl had calmed down considerably as she read on, so Sara didn't stop.

Five years ago, Sara had no intentions of becoming a mother.

She felt a pang of guilt. She loved Brenda now. It had taken barely a month of afternoons together for her to realize that adopting the girl was not only a viable option, but an absolute necessity. But for five years she let her daughter fester in a group home. She let her birthday go uncelebrated. She left her alone with her nightmares, with her memories, and with no one to share them with.

It was her child sitting by her side and Sara ached knowing she wasted five years without her, letting both of their sorrows compound to an unbearable degree.

As she finished the book, her throat painfully tight with emotion, Brenda smiled up at her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. You should, uh, thank Gil, too, actually," Sara said, getting up off of the seat. "Do you want to call him now or do you want to wait until tomorrow?"

She fiddled with the post-it on the cover. "Can I write him a note? On my new stationary? Do you have his address?"

"Uh…sure. Yeah. Okay."

Brenda hopped up and walked over to her desk, getting out a sheet of paper. "Hmm…" She tapped a pen against her teeth as she meditated on what to say. "Did you know Gil's favorite book is _The Cat In The Hat_?"

Sara raised her eyebrows nervously. Brenda didn't know she had seen the DVD with their conversation and though she didn't believe that her daughter would be angry with her for viewing it, Sara felt it best to let Brenda determine how much she wanted to reveal. "N-no. No, I didn't know that."

"His mom used to read it to him."

"Did she?"

"Yes," Brenda sighed, staring down at the blank page in front of her. Putting pen to paper, she began to write and Sara exited the room, leaving her to her task. The letter was sealed in an envelope and ready to be mailed the next day. They ventured out together for the first time in almost a week, going to the market for fresh produce and renting a couple of movies to enjoy while playing chess. Brenda beat Sara five times out of eight, at first apologetic about her wins. When her mother assured her she was nothing but proud, Brenda basked in the glow of her success on the chessboard. "I _never _win when I play against Martin," she exclaimed.

Sara laughed. "Isn't he coming back from Boston soon?"

"Yeah. He told me he bought me a Harvard sweatshirt," Brenda explained as she set up the board for another game. "He got one for Norah, too. We're all supposed to wear it the first day of school."

"Won't you guys sweat? It's still warm out."

"Eh," Brenda said, shrugging. "Hey, do you think we should get Gil a birthday present?" she asked as she made her first move on the board.

Sara looked up, shocked at the turn of the conversation. "Excuse me?"

"He was here for most of his birthday, taking care of everything here. Plus he got me a birthday present."

"Um…okay. Do you have any ideas."

Brenda looked thoughtful. "I figure he's probably already got a copy of _The Cat In The Hat_," she said seriously.

"Right." Sara couldn't quite believe she was having this conversation.

"What do you think he'd like?"

"Brenda, I honestly have no idea."

They decided to go to the bookstore the following day to get ideas. Brenda kept asking questions about Grissom's preferences and Sara felt oddly embarrassed that she couldn't tell her much about his likes or dislikes. He liked bugs and baseball, that she was sure of. He frequently quoted Shakespeare, but most likely had all of the Bard's poems and plays on his bookshelves at home. After about an hour's worth of browsing, Sara okayed an anthology of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's _Sherlock Holmes _tales. The new edition had just been released, so it was unlikely he already had it.

They stopped at the café for their usual cocoa and giant cookie. "So can we bring it over to him now?"

For a moment, Sara let herself admire Brenda's lack of inhibition when it came to Grissom. It was all so simple for the little girl. They had purchased him a gift so she wanted to give it to him. She wasn't freaked out. Her mind wasn't going through every possible scenario of how he could react. As they got into the car, Sara called Grissom and asked it if would be alright if they brought something over.

"What?"

"A gift," Sara told him under her breath as she slammed the trunk of her SUV closed. "Brenda wanted to get you something for your birthday. She sent you a thank you note. Did you get it?"

"Um, yes."

"So…is it okay if we drop something off for you?"

"You really didn't have to--"

"Yeah, well, we did," she said, rolling her eyes to no one at all.

"Okay."

They drove to his house in relative silence. When they pulled into a parking spot, Sara felt it necessary to sent some limits as to what would go on when they delivered his gift. "Listen, we're just dropping this off. This isn't a visit. Just, 'Hello, here's your present. Goodbye.' Okay?"

"I really have to pee."

"Are you kidding?" Sara asked, exasperated.

Brenda looked distressed. "I drank two hot chocolates! I've gotta pee!"

"Jesus," Sara muttered under her breath as she retrieved the gift from the trunk. "They had a restroom in the store, you know."

"I didn't have to _go _in the store."

Dread. She was dreading this. With anyone else, this would've been easy. But the innocent act of gift-giving was that much more complicated when it came to Grissom. Sara had never gotten him a present before. She always suspected he'd see it as her trying to push a relationship, and then would back away even more. All ceremony and tradition was scrapped for the tenure of their long friendship. Birthdays and holidays were virtually ignored, save for the one Christmas he gave her an entomology textbook because he had accidentally ordered two of the same edition.

"You keep it," he had told her that afternoon in late December. "Think if it as a Christmas present."

Sara supposed it was her turn to return the favor. They rang the bell and waited several seconds for an answer. He looked the same as always, his face blank, his eyes clear. Brenda thrust the plastic bag out to him. "Happy Birthday. It's the new _Sherlock Holmes _anthology."

"Oh. Thank you," he said, taking the bag from her hands.

Brenda coughed and politely squeezed her mother's hand, reminding her of the request she had to make. "Um…can Brenda use your bathroom?"

"Uh, sure." He stepped backwards to give them room to enter.

"Sorry about this," Sara mumbled. "Too many hot chocolates…"

"It's no problem," he assured her. After he pointed her towards the direction of the bathroom, Brenda scampered off, leaving the two adults alone.

"So…how's your book coming along?"

Grissom shrugged. "It's alright. Writing the outline was the most difficult part -- figuring out how much space I should dedicate certain subjects to, stuff like that. But the actual writing has come pretty easy, luckily."

"Great," Sara said, smiling tightly.

She crossed her arms over her chest and wracked her brain for something else to say, but was spared when a high pitched scream came from the direction of the bathroom.

TBC…


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

They rushed to the bathroom door.

Sara's hand reached the knob first and she twisted in vain, jiggling it and calling out her daughter's name. "Unlock it, Brenda. Come on, sweetie," she urged, impatient.

"One of the roaches probably got out," Grissom told her. "I think there's a hole in the terrarium because I found one in…" His voice died off and her hand stilled on the knob as she looked at him, brows furrowed.

"Found one where?"

"The counter…" he said, staring into space, his face blank.

"On the counter?"

Grissom's eyes snapped back into focus. "While I was brushing my teeth -- the casefile -- on the counter -- Shannon."

Sara drew in a sharp breath. She banged on the door and, within seconds, was face-to-face with a wide-eyed Brenda. Sara looked over the little girl's shoulder and saw the scattered photos, all of Shannon Carmichael's decaying body. Her eyes returned to her daughter. A small puddle had formed on the ceramic floor between the girl's feet. She had wet herself.

Sara rubbed her temple, grit her teeth, and then turned to Grissom. He looked like a man preparing to be flogged. "Can you get me some paper towels and, I don't know, bleach?"

"I can clean it up--"

"Just do it," she said firmly. "Please."

He disappeared from the doorway and she shut the door, sidestepping the urine and kneeling down in front of Brenda. "Honey? Sweetheart?" she said, getting the girl's attention. "We're going to talk about this when we get home, okay?" Brenda swiveled her head back to glance at the photos and Sara hurriedly snatched the pile and turned it over, picture-side down. "Let's clean you up."

Brenda's skirt had luckily remained dry, for the most part. "Take off your undies," Sara sighed. The little girl slipped them off and her mother took them, wrapping them in toilet paper and before tossing them in the garbage.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Brenda whispered.

"Oh, kiddo, it's not your fault." Sara removed her light jacket and tied it around Brenda's waist. "Better?"

Brenda nodded, but said nothing.

There was a soft knock at the door. Sara got up and opened it a crack, taking the paper towels and cleanser from Grissom, before closing the door again. She cleaned the floor up quickly, and then took her daughter by the hand, leading her out of the bathroom.

Grissom was standing in the middle of his living room, looking every bit like a man lost. "Sara, I'm sorry."

She opened her mouth to speak, but something on the coffee table caught her eye.

It was Shannon's yearbook, the one they had poured over for hours. It was sealed in a clear evidence bag. Her eyes surveyed the room. A pile of news clippings were scattered on the top of a low bookshelf behind her. Sara raised her eyebrows. "Is that your office?" she asked, looking over at the closed door to her right.

He said nothing.

Sara bent down to Brenda. "Wait here for a minute."

She walked to the door and pushed it open. Grissom's home office was as cluttered as she thought it would be. Specimens covered the walls. The bookshelves were backed with every forensics text one could think of. But Sara didn't care about any of that today. She walked over to his desk and found, to her utter disgust, Shannon's résumé on the far left corner of the expanse. The casefile, housed in a familiar manila folder with 'CARMICHAEL, SHANNON' written in bold across the top, lay open among his book outline and day planner. Sara's eyes wandered to the bulletin board, which, unlike the desk and the rest of Grissom's office, was uncluttered, with only one photograph to showcase.

Sara stared at Ned Meyers' mug shot, his two-dimensional, sad but soulless gaze boring into hers, singeing her.

She fled. Taking Brenda by the hand, she left his townhouse without a word.

Brenda said nothing in the car. As they walked to their front door, she opened her mouth for the first time since it happened. "I need to take a shower."

Sara didn't argue. She didn't have the energy to. Brenda disappeared up the stairs while her mother took a seat at the kitchen table, folding her arms on the surface and resting her head on top of them. She knew Brenda would be alright. It would take some time, but they'd talk it through, like the always did. Sara realized how much her confidence in Brenda's emotional abilities had grown since she adopted her. Three months ago, the idea of Brenda being able to handle the stress of seeing crime scene photos would have been dismissed as ridiculous. But, over these past few months, Sara had come to realize how strong Brenda was, and how smart she was.

It was Grissom that was the problem.

She was angry -- not because he had crime scene photos laying around his house. He was a single man; he lived alone. That he would bring work home with him was a given. If Brenda had stumbled on any other case, on any other victim, Sara would have excused Grissom completely.

But it wasn't any other case and it wasn't any other victim.

Sara thought that an end to the case and his leave of absence would rid Grissom of his obsession with Shannon Carmichael.

She was wrong.

She pictured him sitting at his desk and working on his book with Ned Meyers' guilty countenance watching over him from his place on the bulletin board. She could see him brushing his teeth while Shannon's rotting corpse looked up at him from the photos scattered in the bathroom. He would take a break from writing and watch television in his living room, with the yearbook -- still tagged as evidence -- to keep him company.

Grissom was in trouble.

Sara heard the rustle of a kitchen chair and looked up to see Brenda, clad in a towel turban and pajamas, taking her seat opposite her mother.

"Hey," Sara said, sitting up straight in her chair. "How are you?"

"I'm…okay."

"I want to talk to you about what you saw at Gil's house."

"Okay."

Sara cleared her throat and began. She talked of the job she and Grissom did, how they helped people, how they worked to catch the bad guy, and how that sometimes involved dealing with some stuff that was not-so-nice. "It's part of the what I do, and it goes a long way towards figuring out the truth, but…it's not something that a ten-year-old should see. And I'm sorry that you had to see it. I'm sure that Gil is, too."

Brenda sighed.

"Do you want to say something?"

"No," the girl said, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hands. "I just feel bad for the lady."

"So do I, honey."

"Did you catch who killed her?"

"Yes, Gil did."

Brenda pursed her lips and looked pensive. "Good."

"Yeah." Sara folded her hands. "Anything else you want to talk about?"

"Well, no…well…"

"What?"

Brenda's face turned bright pink. "I can't believe I peed!"

Sara choked out a laugh that startled her daughter, and the girl's mortification only seemed to grow.

"Mom, I peed on the floor like a little kid! In front of Gil! Oh, _God_…"she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'm never drinking anything ever again."

Sara marveled at the priorities of a pre-teen. Brenda would be fine. She assured her that shock sometimes led to a loss of control when it came to bodily functions, and was placated by a story Brass once told Sara about a deputy who had, according to the seasoned detective, "crapped his fucking pants" on his first official shootout.

They spent the rest of the day talking and reading. Sara kept her eye on the clock, tucking Brenda in at her bedtime and going back downstairs to the kitchen to continue to watch the time tick by. When she was sure her little girl was in a deep sleep, Sara picked up the phone and dialed a number she memorized the day she came to Las Vegas.

"Hello?"

"I need to talk to you. Come over."

TBC…


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

She sat on her front steps, waiting for him. The slate tile beneath her was the only thing that remained cool in the hot August night. Grissom pulled up into the driveway and got out of his car without a word. He was a dead man walking and looked ready to meet his executioner, all hundred and five pounds of her. Her heart broke for him.

"Sit down," she said softly, patting the space beside her.

He cleared his throat and took a seat.

Sara sighed and stared out into the trees that surrounded the property, shrouding the two scientists from the rest of the city. "Brenda's okay." He turned his head to look at her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the trees. "She's asleep. I explained to her what it is we do and she understands. She's sworn off all liquids of course, but—"

"Sara…"

She could tell he was skeptical of her assurances and didn't appreciate her attempt at levity. Sara met his eyes and, for the first time in their acquaintance, saw age on his face. "I'm not worried about Brenda. Believe it or not, she is…remarkably well-adjusted. I'm not worried about her because when something is bothering her, I know she is going to come to me to talk about it. I know it's not going to sit on her brain and fester."

"So what is this? Is this some kind of intervention? I share all of my feelings and everything's okay?"

Sara expected him to be defensive. She had been in the past when the situation was reversed. Yet he always seemed to persevere, to deflect the bullets she shot his way and continue his quest to aid her. "This has to stop." He was silent. Sara pressed her lips together for a moment, giving him a chance to respond. When he didn't, she drew in a breath. In order to get him to understand, she had to give a little more of herself. "I've been here for five years. And we've worked some pretty tough cases together. Every time I got too close to the edge, you were always there to pull me back. And every time I went headlong over the cliff in a suicide dive, you were there to cushion the blow. Do I have to list all the times you've been there for me?" she asked, leaning a fraction of an inch closer to him. "My God, you just spent three days taking care of me and Brenda. Why is it okay for you to be there for me and not the other way around?"

"I got rid of all of the stuff -- everything about the case, okay? The evidence is back in storage, the files are with closed cases, the pictures, the mug shots -- all gone. Okay?"

"Are _you _okay?"

It was his turn to stare out into the trees. "I…"

Sara raised her eyebrows and waited for him to continue. She didn't want to force anything out of him. If he wanted to tell his problems to someone else, that was his prerogative. She just wanted him to feel better.

"I didn't think about the case at all while I was here."

That, for Grissom, was a big admission. Sara's mind raced to process it. Shannon's case didn't torment him while they were together. In some way, she had made life a little easier for him. And he admitted it to her.

The worst thing, she knew, would be to make a big deal out of it. Sara wanted desperately to ask him why, but she knew getting an answer was much more for her own satisfaction than for his. He would only clam up and redden under further interrogation. So instead of getting what she wanted, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder and stood up. "We're going shopping for school supplies tomorrow. We'll be at _Office Max_ at around noon. Maybe we'll see you there."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze and then smiled as she walked to her front door. Grissom stood up, looked at her quizzically for a long moment and then walked to his car.

The next day, Sara and Brenda found themselves lost in the aisles of multi-colored Post-Its and mechanical pencils. Other parents pushed their carts, grabbing things off of the shelves in a practiced rhythm while their less-than-enthusiastic children trudged along behind them. Brenda, on the other hand, was quite excited, and bounced along beside the shopping cart, oohing and ahhing at whatever she saw.

"Why so happy?"

"I never got to _pick_ any of my school supplies before," she squealed, running up to the stack of lunch boxes and examining them. "This is so cool!"

Her heart a puddle of goo, Sara found it difficult to say no to anything Brenda seemed to like. She'd be spoiling her if the child had been susceptible to it, but Brenda was so appreciative of everything, at the same time expecting nothing, that it was almost impossible to do so. Sara sighed, knowing she'd have to tighten the reins at some point for Brenda's sake.

_Just...not at the moment_, she thought, smiling to herself as they loaded the cart with computer paper.

Sara had forgotten about inviting Grissom until she turned the corner and saw him standing awkwardly in front of the manila files, attempting to look interested. She glanced at her watch and smiled.

"Hey, there's Gil," Sara said, gesturing to the end of the aisle. She watched Brenda to gauge her reaction. If the girl seemed disappointed, she'd find some way to cut the meeting short. But if Brenda didn't mind his presence, Sara would do her best to keep him around for the afternoon. He seemed to need the company.

At the sight of Grissom, Brenda's eyes widened and Sara realized it wasn't dismay that consumed her daughter's expression, but embarrassment. Grissom, having met Sara's gaze, was slowly walking towards them. He seemed nervous as he greeted them. "H-hello."

Sara, surprised to find she was equally nervous, gave him a tight smile. "Hi."

"I'm sorry I peed on your floor."

Both adults, nonplussed, stared at Brenda. Sara turned her head to the side, coughing to hide her grin. She knew that this was one of the moments in her life that she would remember forever.

"On, that's quite all right," he said quickly. "I-I'm sorry about the, uh, pictures of, you know...the...uh..."

"Oh, Mom told me those were for your book."

"Right. My book."

"So..." Sara began, getting their attention and hoping to change the subject, "we're buying school supplies."

"Ahh," he nodded.

"Care to join us?" Sara asked, giving him an encouraging smile.

They continued to walk through the rest of the store with Brenda doing most of the talking as she explained each item on her list. "They said we'd need a protractor and I didn't know what that was but then Martin – he's my friend – he told me it's like a half-circle-shaped ruler that measures angles. And then there's a compass on my list, too, and I thought that it meant we needed, like, a _compass_ compass. Like those things you use to tell the direction – North, South, and stuff. But it's actually something that draws perfect circles."

"Ahh, yes," Grissom said, trying to keep up with Brenda's chatter.

"It would probably be cool to have a compass. The North/South compass, I mean," the little girl clarified. "I used to think North meant up, like up in the sky, but then Mom got me a globe and now I understand longitude and latitude and stuff like that."

"Uh-huh."

Brenda continued to talk animatedly and as they reached the register, Sara realized that it probably wasn't any particular characteristic of Grissom that brought out the talkative side in her daughter, save for the fact that he made a good audience. He didn't really have a lot to say and Brenda did.

Once the bags were packed into the car, they all headed off to a restaurant. Grissom drove behind them in his car, giving Sara the chance to find out how Brenda felt about him tagging along. "Do you mind that Gil is going to eat with us?"

"He practically lived with us. So what if he eats with us?" Brenda shrugged.

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Okay. That's an interesting way to look at it. You know, he is kind of like my Norah and Martin."

"He's your best friend?" the girl asked, sitting up a little more in her seat. "Him?"

"Well…" Sara said, tilting her head to the side, "I don't know if 'best friend' is title I'd use." The words invoked a sort of triviality and youthfulness that did not encompass their relationship. "He's my very good friend. And…well, he's had a tough time at work and right now I have to be there for him."

"Tough time? Did he kill someone?"

"No! No, of course not," Sara gasped. "With our job, we all have tough cases sometimes. I've had tough cases in the past. And every single time, he was there to help me through it."

"What kind of tough cases?"

Sara winced, not wanting to venture into this territory with Brenda. She decided it was best to be vague. "Oh, different kinds of cases. Sometimes, we all reach our limits and we need someone to be there for us. And he's been there for me so now it's my turn to be there for him for a little while. So…is that okay with you if maybe he hangs out at our house every now and then – if he comes for dinner or something like that?"

"Um…okay, I guess. Sure. He seems nice, I guess," Brenda said. "He helped out a lot when you were sick."

"That's right," Sara nodded, looking back into her rearview mirror at Grissom driving his car behind her. "He did help out a lot. So…cool?"

"Yeah, cool."

As they pulled into the parking lot, Sara turned to look at her daughter. "Sweetie, I told you all of this because I didn't want you to think Gil was around because I was sick again or anything like that. So I just want to add that I don't think this is a subject you should bring up with him, okay? I know you love to ask questions – you're my little investigative reporter," she added with a smile, "but this topic is a little…"

"Private?"

"I was going to say sensitive, but it's private, too, yes. So…just keep doing what you're doing, okay, kiddo? Talk about school and your friends and Dr. Seuss," she said, tweaking Brenda's nose and smiling.

They got out of the car and met up with Grissom. Sara watched and could see her daughter make a more conscious attempt at being gregarious. When it came to the suffering of others, Brenda always seemed keenly eager to do whatever she could to ease pain. Sara recalled how the girl was glued to the television earlier that morning, watching the news coverage on the devastation in Louisiana as Hurricane Katrina ripped through the Central Gulf Coast. Brenda had insisted on giving all of the allowance she had saved up to the relief efforts. Touched, Sara got her credit card out and donated a good amount to the Red Cross, though she left Brenda's small savings intact.

The hostess greeted them at the doorway, smiling brightly as she grabbed and armful of menus. "How many in your party?"

"Three."

TBC…

A/N: I had wanted this thing done by Christmas. Funny how things don't work out as planned. I hope everyone is enjoying their holidays and looking forward to the New Year. This past year has been the biggest one in terms of change for me. My doppelganger was born only a few months before we lost a beloved family member. I got two degrees, ended one job, and started another. I accidentally got Christopher Guest's mail (so cool!) and learned that the silence of someone you love is worse than the actions of someone you don't -- the hard way (not cool). And, just this past Christmas, I learned that if you're going to buy the Roboraptor for a child in your life, buy one for yourself, too, because you'll never be able to pry the darn thing from their sticky little fingers in order to play with it yourself. And Roboraptor makes for a great babysitter when you put it in Guard Mode.


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: I have writer's block.

Chapter 42

He was shy. For the first time in their acquaintance, Sara saw shyness in Grissom's manners. She'd seen him smile widely occasionally, and boil over with anger, though for the most part he'd always been aloof, standoffish. Shy was not an adjective Sara ever thought she would use to describe Grissom's behavior and yet she sat, amazed, as he fiddled with his silverware and nervously creased the paper placemat in front of him.

Brenda saved the day, conversation-wise. Sara was experiencing a new side of her daughter, as well. The girl was a motor mouth. She had something to say about each item on the menu and, after they ordered and the menus were taken away, inspected each and every song on the tiny jukebox at their booth.

"_The Beach Boys_, I know. _The Beatles_, I know. Gil, do you like _The Beatles_?"

Grissom took a long sip of his iced tea and then nodded.

"They have…eleven songs from _The Beatles_. What's your favorite?"

He tilted his head and considered. "'I've Just Seen A Face,' I guess."

Brenda's eyes scanned the songs on the list. "They don't have that one. How does it go?"

His eyes widened as Sara's did. The child expected him to sign the song. Out loud. In a restaurant. Sara interjected just in time, "Brenda, I think we have the album at home."

Grissom looked thankful as the girl turned her attention to her mother. "What's your favorite?"

"Song?"

"Yes."

"By _The Beatles_?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. Umm…there are so many."

"Pick one," Grissom said, straightening up in his seat.

"'Something.'"

"Something, what?" Brenda asked, looking confused.

Sara laughed. "No, that's the name of the song. 'Something.'"

"What's it about?"

"Excuse me?"

"The song? What's it about? Gil's is, I assume, about seeing a face. What's the something in your song?"

Sara shrugged, surprised to find herself flustered by the question. "Love, I guess. Relationships? I don't know. I just like it."

"Okay." Brenda went back to the jukebox and continued to read off the list of artists while Sara rolled her eyes at Grissom. She would have been mildly embarrassed at all of the questions they both had been subjected to -- from food preferences to their views on the décor -- but realized that it was all helping Grissom forget the case, at least for a while. The conversation took a turn when the food arrived. Brenda began to talk of her hopes and fears concerning the fifth grade and, to Sara's surprise, Grissom volunteered tidbits of his own fifth grade experience to the little girl. He had, apparently, spent three months working on an elaborate science fair project only to have the control group of field mice die of accidental poisoning the night before the judging.

"So did you _fail_?" Brenda asked, putting down her burger and leaning forward.

"Yeah."

Sara was aghast. "You?"

"Yes."

Brenda was indignant. "But that's not fair! It wasn't your fault. Did you cry?"

"I don't remember crying," Grissom said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I think I was angry. It was forty years ago."

"Still," Brenda said sorely. "What was your teacher's name?"

"Mrs. O'Grady. No, wait. Mrs. Gordon. I think."

"You should look her name up in the telephone book and call her."

Grissom was amused. "What would I say?"

"That you're mad at her and that she's…stupid! You won't get in trouble. They can't put you in detention."

"Brenda, she was ancient when I was in fifth grade," he chuckled. "If she were alive now, she'd be in the Guinness Book of Records."

"As the meanest teacher ever," Brenda mumbled before eating a forkful of coleslaw. "Mom, if a teacher ever failed me like that, would you say something?"

"Kiddo, I would arrest them."

Though the girl sighed in exasperation, Sara could tell she was placated for the moment as she ate another bite of coleslaw.

Sara excused herself and went to the bathroom, satisfied with the way the afternoon was progressing. Grissom seemed content and Brenda had surpassed all of her mother's expectations. The little girl who would have froze up mere months ago at the prospect of conversation with an unfamiliar adult was now chatting away like a veteran talk show host. Early on in the adoption process, Sara had Brenda pegged as a fellow introvert, and was now shocked to see her so…comfortable. She would bet anything that the child could outmaneuver both adults in any social situation. It pleased Sara to no end. It meant that fear would not rule the girl's personal relationships. She could talk to people, she could make friends. It was in her capacity to do so. Now knowledgeable of this, Sara could breathe a sigh of relief. Since becoming a parent, she found herself deluged with fears of fitting it -- not on her own behalf, but on Brenda's. Her own experiences as both a child and adult were not marked by meaningful personal relationships -- save for her friendship with Grissom -- and only when she assumed the responsibility of caring for another human being could Sara truly evaluate her own loneliness. It was not anything she would ever want for her daughter.

So to see Brenda use those skills, to converse so easily, to make a friend of someone in need, was nothing short of thrilling.

Sara took a deep breath and stepped out of the restroom and back into the crowded restaurant. She could see Brenda and Grissom in the distance. The little girl was talking and chewing at the same time -- something they'd have to work on -- and Grissom seemed to be listening carefully. She wished she had a camera. It was such a strange, wonderful thing to see the two of them -- her people -- together. They both had large blue eyes and, oddly enough, similar profiles. Anyone looking at them sitting in the booth would assume they were father and daughter. Sara shook her head at that thought and, for the first time, noticed the booths that flanked Grissom and Brenda.

Families. All families.

Her eyes scanned the rest of the tables. Families were everywhere. Her calm suddenly replaced by jitters, Sara bit her lip and made her way back to her seat. "Elbows off the table," she said quickly as she sat down.

"Mom, I was just telling Gil how we were supposed to go to The Metropolitan Museum of Art on our trip to New York and he said he has some books on it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, he said we could borrow them."

"Did he?" Sara said, giving Grissom a tight smile.

"Yeah, uh, my mom ran an art gallery for thirty years," he explained. "I have more books on art than I could ever need."

Brenda barely regarded this revelation. She was much more interested in his collection of art books, making Sara wonder if he had already shared this information with her daughter. Grissom answered the girl's questions, though Sara could see he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. He looked nervous once again.

The check eventually came and, though there was much protesting on Sara's part, Grissom paid. Brenda managed to finagle a trip to his house so they could pick up some of his books and her mother soon found herself trailing Grissom's car as he drove home. For a moment, she worried about aftereffects of their last visit. Brenda, however, assuaged all concern as she walked through the front door all a-chatter. Before the girl could ask a barrage of questions that would keep them there for hours, Sara cleared her throat and suggested that perhaps they save the art discussion for another day, inviting Grissom to dinner the following Friday. He agreed -- with only a moment's hesitation, she noticed -- and they left, books in hand.

Sara didn't have much time to fret over Grissom's upcoming visit. Brenda was starting school, making the both of them, by turns, nervous and excited. A large magnetic board was hung in the kitchen and kept track of the new fifth grader's schedule. "You have piano on Wednesdays from 3:30 to 5 o'clock," Sara explained. "Martin's mom recommended the teacher. And…ballet on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 3:30 to 4:30."

"With Norah," Brenda added.

Sara pursed her lips. "Norah is a bit more advanced than you. She'll be in a different ballet class. But her mom is going to pick you guys up from school and drive you there together. Is that okay?"

"I guess."

"What's wrong?"

The girl shook her head. "Nothing. It's just…I'll have to be there alone."

"There'll be other kids there," Sara assured her. "You didn't know anyone the first day of camp and then you made two best friends right off the bat."

Buoyed, Brenda smiled and inspected the board. "Who's going to drive me to piano class?"

"I will. On Wednesdays I'm taking off work a bit early so I can pick you up from school," she explained. Sara was, once again, glad about the shift change. It afforded her a slightly senior position in the lab, which came with the ability to change her schedule whenever needed. She had paid her dues and was able to enjoy the fruits of her labor. There were now people under her to do the grunt work while she worked the evidence. It was the most rewarding time in her career, but it bothered Sara that Grissom was not there to share it with her. When her boss, Dr. Woo, was called off to do a lecture or a seminar, she assumed the role of supervisor, handing out assignments, watching over rookies, and keeping things running smoothly.

There was a small, slightly embarrassed part of Sara that still had something to prove to Grissom. She knew he thought she was smart. But Sara was never quite sure of his opinion of her as a CSI. In almost every performance review -- the ones he bothered to fill out, anyway -- the only notes Grissom ever made were about her work habits: her tendency to work long hours, to max out on overtime. He never mentioned anything about her skills. Her therapist was right.

Validation.

She had been looking for it.

Sara recalled first hearing the diagnosis of sorts. Her immediate response was argumentative. "Human beings need each other. We need each other to know we're doing alright," she had told the therapist combatively. "If we didn't, then why not just go live on an island somewhere and be done with it?"

Dr. Moss had merely pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Do you feel that others' opinions of your mean more to you than your own? How do you weigh your own validation of yourself with the validation of others?"

She had wanted to scream that there was no 'others.' There was just one 'other' and she had been quite obsessed with impressing him since the moment they laid eyes on each other. After sessions, Sara would sit and ruminate on why it was that she seemed to care about Grissom's opinion of her. She knew the psychobabble mumbo jumbo reasons by heart: she put him up on a pedestal, she idealized him, she never had anyone in her life so she picked the first person to show a genuine interest and made him her god.

And for a long time, it was that way.

Tired of being tired, Sara convinced herself that her therapist was right. She returned to work after her weeklong suspension keenly aware of all of her actions and the reasoning behind them. She was determined to look at Grissom without the rose-colored glasses. She would see the man for what he truly was, without all of her expectations attached.

To Sara's shock and horror, she loved him just the same.

Shaking her head at the memory, she stared once more at the schedule in front of her. Tuesdays through Thursdays, Brenda got home late. Mondays, Sara assumed, would be hectic as they eased back into the weekdays.

Friday. He'd come over Friday. That would be their day. No homework needed to be done on Fridays, and they'd all have the previous days' events to discuss, so there'd never be a lull in the conversation.

It all seemed too easy. Sara wasn't used to easy.

She'd spent the last ten years in love with Gil Grissom.

TBC…


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Organization. It was the key to keeping sane when one is juggling a career in criminalistics and motherhood. The Monday Brenda returned to school, Sara's boss was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis, leaving her in charge for the remainder of the week. She worked straight through lunch and managed to beat her daughter's bus home by four o'clock.

Sara congratulated Brenda on her first day of school, heard all about the new teacher, and signed the requisite forms as the girl continued to talk about her classmates. The emergency contact form gave her some pause. 'Name of Father' was left blank, as was the contact information that was supposed to follow it. Sara shuddered at the thought of Brenda's biological father. He was a monster.

She looked up at her little girl, who was carefully wrapping her textbooks in brown paper. A familiar feeling washed over her; it was the sickness she felt whenever she imagined where Brenda would be had Tina Collins not taken action. During those moments, Sara found herself uncharacteristically thankful for absolute carnage. She had once told Grissom that she could never kill another human being. For Brenda's father, she would have made an exception. Sara wished him alive again so she could mow him down in a hail of gunfire, so she could watch him bleed to death slowly, and see the pain in his eyes as he lay helpless, as helpless as Brenda no doubt was all those nights he abused her.

Sara managed to push those thoughts to the back of her mind long enough to help Brenda with her homework.

"I have to write an essay about what I expect to learn this year," Brenda explained. "How am I supposed to talk about stuff I haven't learned? What do I say? 'I expect to learn more math'? It's dumb."

Sara shrugged her shoulders. "Well, what would you like to learn?"

"Why my fish never blinks."

"Okay…"

"He never closes his eyes. I blink all the time."

Sara had to laugh. "I meant school subjects. Do you want to learn more about negative numbers? Stuff like that."

"Ohh." They managed to get through the assignment and Brenda eagerly typed her first fifth grade essay on her computer while Sara did some paperwork. All in all, it was an uneventful evening. Before bed, they referred to the big magnetic board in the kitchen for the next day's events.

"Ballet tomorrow," Sara reminded. "Is your duffel bag packed?"

"Yeah, it's in the front hall," Brenda told her.

"Is all your homework done?"

"Yeah."

"And the forms that needed to be signed? Are they in your folder?"

"Yep."

Sara nodded her head. "Cool." The routine had been established and the remainder of the week ran smoothly. Brenda was enjoying the rigors of fifth grade while her mother was looking forward to the challenges that lay before her at work. Early Thursday morning, Brass popped his head into her office and invited her to lunch that afternoon.

"I'm due in court at one, so I've gotta stick around here until then," he told her.

"That explains the suit," she smiled. She met up with him at a restaurant near the courthouse at noon with a good idea of what he wanted to talk about.

"I never see you anymore," Brass said as Sara took her seat across from him. "How are things?"

"Good. Things are good." She grinned, waiting for him to bring up the real reason he invited her to lunch.

"That's good. So…what grade is Brenda in now?"

"Fifth."

"Does she like it?"

She nodded. "So far. So far."

"Seen Grissom recently?"

Sara raised her eyebrows. There it was, the buzzword she was waiting for: Grissom. "Why?"

"Nothing, it's just…well, a few days ago, I get a call telling me to stop buy his townhouse. When I get there, he hands me a big box of old evidence from the Shannon Carmichael case, says he doesn't want it anymore. I thought that was very interesting."

"I'm happy he's letting that case go."

"Letting it go? Is that what you think he's doing?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "Yes, of course. Why else would he give you all the evidence he had on that case?"

Brass fidgeted in his seat. "I was watching this talk show…"

Sara rolled her eyes.

"…and this psychologist was on. He was talking about how some people -- before they commit suicide -- they give their valuable possessions away. Now, I figure he was so obsessed with this case that that evidence has _got _to be among his most valuable --"

"Brass, stop," Sara interrupted, more than a little disturbed. "Grissom is not going to commit suicide," she whispered loudly. "He's…he's okay. I've been -- well, I've been spending time with him." It wasn't anything she wanted to admit, but Sara felt it better to reveal a detail or two of her life rather than have Brass concoct some unnecessary plan for an around the clock suicide watch.

"Oh."

She sat back in her seat. "So…you don't have to worry."

"This time you're spending with him…is it, like, between friends or --"

"_Friends_, Brass," she stressed. "Friends. He's…he's doing much better. You don't have to worry."

Brass eyed her for a long moment. "You had something to do with him returning the evidence, didn't you?"

Sara shook her head slowly. "Grissom did that on his own."

He smiled at that and stroked his chin. "You take good care of him."

She had no response for him, and quickly changed the subject. They finished their lunch amicably enough and he didn't bring up Grissom again, though the scientist was never too far from her thoughts. He would be over for dinner the following night. Sara had decided to make lobster, something Brenda was eager to eat again after trying some at her friend Martin's house. She was surprised the young girl didn't mind lobster. Her summer job at a seafood joint during high school had Sara believing that all children were averse to consuming what many viewed as a big, red bug from the sea.

When Brenda arrived home on Friday afternoon, the two ventured out to the supermarket to pick up the lobsters.

"Can I get one for my aquarium?"

"No."

"Would it eat Horton?"

"I have no idea, but you're not getting a pet lobster."

"I'd call him Pinchy."

After arriving home, Sara made the side dishes while Brenda peeled carrots for the salad. "Mom, when are we going to cook the lobsters?"

"We can put them in the pot when Gil comes. They don't take long to cook."

They set the dining room table and talked about Brenda's homework for the weekend. When Grissom arrived, they all made their way to the kitchen. Sara checked to make sure the pot was boiling and then retrieved the lobsters. "Ooh, they're feisty," she noted.

Brenda's voice suddenly filled with concern. "Is this going to hurt?"

Sara's eyes widened as she loosened a rubber band off of one of the lobster's claws. "Uh…"

"No, Brenda, lobsters have a very primitive nervous system," Grissom explained. "They're invertebrates -- lower on the evolutionary scale than your fish. Don't worry. It'll be very quick."

The little girl was satisfied and her mother was quite surprised at Grissom's deft handling of a difficult topic. Sara lowered the lobsters into the water and set the timer on the stove. "Why don't you guys get started? I'm just going to melt the butter and I'll be in in a second."

Within minutes the dining room was filled with the sounds of shells cracking. "I was thinking of getting a pet lobster," Brenda told Grissom, "for my aquarium. Mom said no."

"Well, it's a good think she did. Lobsters eat fish."

"They do?"

"Yep," he said before wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Fish, clams, snails. They even eat other lobsters."

"Gross!"

Grissom shrugged. "You can't really think about it on human terms. They're not thinking about what they're eating, just that they need to eat. They have no conscience. They're basically insects. Really big insects."

Sara put down her fork. "Gross," she laughed.

Grissom's eyes were suddenly wide with concern. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking--"

"It's okay," she said, continuing to laugh.

After dinner, he helped her clear the table and load the dishwasher while Brenda disappeared into the family room. "Thanks for having me over."

Sara smiled at him. "You certainly know a lot about lobsters. But, then again, you know a lot about everything."

"That's far from the truth," he chuckled, handing her a plate. It got quiet for a moment, and then Grissom cleared his throat. "Uh, where did Brenda go?"

Sara checked the clock on the wall. "It's seven. She's watching _Jeopardy_. That's her new thing now," she explained, shrugging. "Brenda thinks it'll make her smarter."

They found her in the family room sitting ramrod straight on the couch with a pad of paper on her lap. "What's that?" Grissom whispered to Sara.

"Oh, she writes down things to look up in the encyclopedia after the show. And then all of that information is later relayed to me," Sara answered, chuckling. She walked over to the couch and took her seat next to Brenda, motioning for Grissom to follow. "Anything interesting?"

"So far, ancient Greece and marsupials," Brenda replied succinctly. She was never talkative until the commercials.

The three kept their eyes on the screen as Alex Trebek read the answers: "This former governor of New York was Secretary of State under Andrew Johnson."

"Seward," Grissom said moments before a contestant gave the same response.

Brenda's gaze was pulled from the screen. "You knew that? What else do you know?"

As the game continued on television, the little girl looked to Grissom after Trebek finished speaking. Sara could tell she was impressed.

"You should go on _Jeopardy_," Brenda exclaimed after the show finished. "You'd totally win a million dollars."

Grissom smiled and shook his head. "I think I'd rather just watch."

Brenda grabbed the remote. "I've got more episodes on TiVo. I bet you know the answers to those, too."

Before Sara could protest, Grissom acquiesced. Like a tiny Dr. Frankenstein, Brenda watched their guest as if he were an experiment. He seemed to know everything except for the most recent pop culture. "That's not really a problem so long as you know everything else," the girl said.

Sara looked at a bewildered Grissom and laughed. "You had better be careful or you'll be her new science experiment."

"With my luck, I'll die of accidental poisoning the day before the judging."

TBC…


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

An odd sort of symbiosis was taking place in the Sidle household. What Sara had intended to be a once in a week get together was, by the second week of an unseasonably warm September, an almost daily ritual of dinner, homework, and television that included her former boss. Grissom fit in quite well with their routine and turned out to be an excellent sounding board for Brenda when it came to the early planning stages of her science project.

"When is it due?" Sara asked skeptically when the girl first introduced the subject.

"March."

"Brenda, that's six months from now," her mother exclaimed.

"I need to get an early start. I want to win, Mom," was all the answer Sara got before the entomologist and the fifth grader began to brainstorm topics. She could only shake her head. When Brenda set her mind to something, she didn't give up until she met her goal.

"What about a volcano? Those are cool," Sara suggested as they dug into Chinese takeout.

She was met with two pairs of rolling eyes. "Everyone does volcanoes," Brenda scoffed.

"Besides, it's basically a craft project," Grissom added. "The only science there is the reaction that takes place between baking soda and vinegar. That's not real lava. And it's not like they'll let ten-year-olds use real lava."

Brenda nodded. "I checked."

Talk of elementary school science would only fade when _Jeopardy _began. Sara was becoming quite adept at the game herself, surprising and impressing her daughter. Brenda would turn to Grissom every now and then and say things like, "You know, my mom went to Harvard," or "Mom got a perfect score on the SATs," causing a smile to grace Sara's lips. She loved that Brenda was proud of her and a small part of her liked that the little girl's pride for her was on display in front of Grissom. Sara had always been on shaky ground when it came to how he felt about her -- everything was so unclear. But there was absolutely no doubt that Brenda adored Sara. Her feelings were out in the open. There were moments when Sara wanted to shout, "See! That's how you love someone!"

She never did, though.

But she smiled, nonetheless, leaning back into the couch and putting an arm around her daughter. The commercials came and Sara cleared her throat. "I, uh, think you should call Brass. Tell him you're alright."

Grissom furrowed his brows. "Um…why?"

"So he'll stop asking me how you are. Just do it," she smiled softly.

He stared into space as he considered it. "Well --"

"Mom, what's erectile dysfunction?"

Grissom seemed to choke on whatever it was he was going to say, while Sara only sighed tiredly as the prescription drug commercial went on to describe priapism. "I've told you this before: there are some things you are too young to know about. I would tell you if I thought you needed to know."

"But…can _I _get erectile dysfunction?"

Sara laughed. "No. No, I promise you that you will _never _get erectile dysfunction."

The phone rang and Brenda ran for it. "Pause the TiVo! Pause the TiVo! It's Norah! She's calling because her dog had the puppies!" The little girl ran for the phone and disappeared into the library so she could hear all about the minute-old puppies, information that would no doubt be relayed to the two adults the moment she hung up.

"She's not getting a dog," Sara muttered under her breath, picturing urine stains on the hardwood floors and the chewed up remnants of her shoes.

She looked over at Grissom whose wide-eyed expression told her his mind was not on anything related to canines. "Erectile dysfunction?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "It's these prescription drug commercials. They drive me nuts. The minute Brenda sees one, she freaks out and thinks she has whatever ailment they're claiming to fix. Don't even get me started on the side effects."

He looked confused. "Side effects?"

"Oh, you know…'The birth control patch may cause blood clots,'" she recited from memory. "For a while Brenda was terrified of blood clots. 'What's a blood clot, Mom? Can I get a blood clot?'" Sara shook her head. "It's insane. 'What's a birth control patch? Do _you _have a birth control patch, Mom?' It's not the kind of conversation I ever expected to have."

"I would imagine not."

When Brenda finally returned, blissfully happy that there were seven new golden retriever puppies in the world, she told Grissom and Sara all that had unfolded in the Oliver household that evening. "I was kind of hoping they'd be born on your birthday, Mom. They missed it by two days."

Sara only nodded, cringing inside at the mention of her birthday. Brenda was gung-ho about celebrating, and had brought the subject up at the dinner table one night while they were finishing up their dessert. While Sara initially attempted to quell the girl's enthusiasm, she soon realized she was fighting a losing battle. She ended up bargaining down Brenda's idea of some kind of gala with swans and ice sculptures to dinner at a restaurant thanks to Grissom, who offered to take them out as his gift to her.

"You really don't have to--"

"I want to," he interrupted.

Brenda had seemed pleased while her mother was reeling at the extreme irony of the situation: she was going out to dinner with Grissom. At a restaurant, not in her dining room. They'd be dressing up -- none of the jeans and T-shirts she favored wearing at the local diner. It had all the makings of a date.

But a date usually doesn't include the company of a ten-year-old who likes to stick straws up her nose and pretend to be a walrus.

Brenda continued to discuss the new additions to her friend's family, completely unaware that her mother was dreading turning thirty-four. "And Norah named them after the seven dwarves -- 'cause there's seven of 'em -- and she said that she can start to give them away in eight weeks if they're healthy enough." It was at this point she looked pointedly at her mom.

"No dog."

"But, Mom, please--"

"You have a fish."

"Yes, but I would like a fish _and _a dog."

Sara rubbed her temple. "Who would take care of it?"

"_I _would," Brenda insisted.

"It would be alone most of the day. You're at ballet practice or piano practice three days of the week," she reminded the girl. "And don't forget homework. _And _that science project you want to dedicate so much time to. Now, is that fair to little Dopey or Bashful or whoever?"

Convinced, but not happy about it, Brenda shrugged. "I guess not."

Sara exhaled, glad she dodged that bullet. She wasn't opposed to getting Brenda a dog -- in the future. But she was still just figuring out how to live with a child that a dog seemed too much. "You can get one when you're a little older," she said, perking the girl up significantly.

As Grissom left that evening, he informed Sara that, since she'd left it up to him to choose the restaurant, he let Brenda pick. "She chose some place called Picasso. It's on the Strip."

"Okay," she said, feeling the tiniest bit uncomfortable. "Oh! That reminds me -- your art book. We should give it back to you."

He shrugged. "You can keep it."

He turned to go but she stopped him. "What's the dress code at this place? Is it fancy or…"

Grissom pressed his lips together. "I can't get in without a jacket and a tie, so…I don't know. I guess."

"You know, we don't have to go someplace fancy. Really. I mean, Brenda would be just as happy at Chuck E. Cheese. That Whack-A-Mole is actually pretty fun, so--"

"No Whack-A-Mole. It's your birthday. Stop trying to get out of it." With that, he left Sara to ponder the contents of her closet.

She'd have to go shopping.

TBC…


	45. Chapter 45

A/N: CSI is like that boyfriend you know will do you wrong, yet you keep going back to him. I'm taking a breather today, though. Grissom is so much better in my head.

Chapter 45

On the morning of her birthday, Sara woke to a mess in the kitchen as Brenda attempted to make her mother breakfast.

"Go back to bed, Mom! I'm almost done."

Smiling, Sara walked back up the stairs to her room. She climbed into bed and planned the rest of the day in her head. Brenda was eager to see Norah's new puppies and was to go visit for the morning under the proviso that no dog would be brought home. While the little girl would be playing with puppies, Sara would be reluctantly braving the mall. She had searched her closet for a dress the night Grissom offered to take them out, but found nothing suitable, save for the outfit she wore on her one pretend date with Hodges. The lab tech had liked it enough, as had his friends, but Sara wanted something new, something Hodges hadn't checked her ass out in. But the mall was a large place, and she had a very, very small amount of patience for it. Even before stepping foot inside the crowded grounds, Sara debated buying the first black dress she saw in her size.

Then again, she wasn't going to a funeral, though there were times it felt like it. Sara had anticipated dinner with Grissom since the moment she got his call to help investigate the shooting of Holly Gribbs. She had thought up elaborate fantasies where they'd sip wine and smile at each other across a candlelit table before one of them suggested they skip the meal and go straight to bed. Sometimes the wine was beer and the bed was the backseat of an SUV, or sometimes he'd slide a hotel key card across the table without saying a word. The one common element of her fantasies, besides inebriation and sex, was that little talking was involved. How does one casually converse with a person you've known for more than ten years, someone you love? Typical date conversation consisted of topics like work and family. Sara knew enough about his work and had always felt that family was a topic strangely off-limits when it came to Grissom, something she could relate to, having always shrugged off questions about relatives on dates in the past. Also, she reminded herself sternly, brushing aside thoughts of a naked Grissom, this was not going to be a date.

It wasn't as if they would be able to go in-depth about serious issues anyway, seeing as a ten-year-old would be watching their every move, she reminded herself. Brenda would be the buffer and Sara hoped she would take over the conversation and break the ice like she had so many times before.

At that moment, Brenda, her would-be savior, stepped into the room balancing a tray in her arms. She set it on Sara's lap and gave her a hug. "Happy birthday," she said into her shoulder.

Sara smiled. "Thank you." She looked at the tray. "Now…what do we have here?"

Brenda gleefully went through her breakfast preparations. "I made the eggs the way you like them," she explained, watching Sara take a forkful. They were undercooked and runny, but Sara grinned at her daughter as she chewed.

"Excellent."

"And there's toast!" Brenda pointed out.

Sara took a bite out of the charred whole wheat bread. "Mmm. Good."

Brenda lifted a large mug off of the tray and handed it to her mother. "I made you coffee." Sara brought the mug to her lips as the girl continued. "I didn't know how to use the coffeemaker, so I sort of made it like tea."

The coffee grinds poured onto Sara's tongue and she grimaced for a split-second before covering it up with a large smile. "Wow, you should make my coffee every morning," she lied. "Thank you sweetheart. This is the best breakfast I ever had in my life."

And that was the truth.

They dressed and Sara dropped Brenda off at Norah's before heading in the direction of the mall. The Galleria was packed, and had she been a regular shopper, she would've known that Saturday was quite possibly the worst day to go to the mall: teenagers too young to drive anywhere particularly interesting filled every last square foot of space not occupied by mothers pushing screaming toddlers in carriages. Sara tripped over to the nearest department store and hightailed it to the cocktail dresses. She bypassed the large section of little black dresses and opted instead for color, though few seemed appealing. The orange strapless was too electric, the lime green halter gown too neon. A maroon dress intrigued Sara until, upon closer inspection, she realized it was trimmed with hideous sequins. Bright pink was out of the question, though she was sure Brenda would have approved the cotton candy confection on the hanger in front of her.

The black dresses were calling out to her: simple, plain, boring. Weak-willed, Sara grabbed one off the rack and held it up for inspection. It was a rather uninteresting, off-the-shoulder black dress. Perfect. She followed the signs to the dressing room and then stopped short, blinking in surprise at the line of people wending a path through the evening gowns as they waited in line to try on clothes.

Sara was having no part of it. The dress was her size. If it was a little roomy, she'd have a big dinner. If it was a trifle tight, she'd suffer through it. She found a pair of high-heeled slingbacks in matching black and hailed a salesman for help. Business-like, Sara gave him her size and stood patiently, for every seat was taken. She ended up having to teeter as she tried them on while standing up. The shoes looked bad with her jeans, but she didn't care. They fit.

She paid for everything and then left to pick up Brenda. When the girl climbed in the car, Sara noticed that she was wearing a different outfit.

"Bashful peed on me," Brenda explained, tossing the plastic bag with her urine-stained clothes onto the seat next to her.

They went home and Sara fixed lunch, but didn't eat it. She was nervous. This would be the first time she and Grissom would be eating out together without a case to discuss. It would be the first time he saw her dressed up for an occasion besides court. The hours passed by too quickly for her taste, and before she knew it, it was time to get ready. Brenda was dressed in record time, and informed her mother she'd be waiting downstairs.

"Wait, let me look at you!" Sara called out to her.

Brenda rolled her eyes and stepped into the master bedroom, trying her best to appear nonchalant but Sara could see the excitement beaming from her daughter. The pale pink party dress had been purchased during their shopping extravaganza at the beginning of the summer, and while there hadn't been an occasion yet for Brenda to wear it, Sara gave herself a figurative pat on the back for buying it anyway. "You look…adorable!"

She blushed and then jumped at the ring of the doorbell. "He's here! Hurry up!"

Brenda raced down the stairs to get the door, leaving Sara scared and alone. She swallowed the lump in her throat and undid the knot in her robe. After lowering the zipper at the side of the dress, Sara slid it on, silently praying it fit. The length could've been a bit longer, but otherwise, she was satisfied. It was comfortable. The same could not be said for her new shoes. Sara had never been too fond of heels on principle, but they did seem to add something to the look, so she was willing to put up with them. It wasn't like she was going on a birthday hike. They'd be sitting down for the bulk of the evening. With one more glance in the mirror at her hair -- which she had pinned up in an effort to create an elegant style, though she feared messy was a more appropriate adjective -- Sara took a deep breath and made her way down the stairs.

Grissom was waiting by the door with Brenda. Sara's eyes scanned his suit before coming to rest on a box in his hands. She furrowed her brows and looked to her daughter, who was holding a gift bag. "What's all this?"

"You look really pretty, Mom."

He coughed. "Yeah, um…beautiful. Happy birthday."

"Happy birthday," Brenda smiled, handing the gift bag to her mother.

Puzzled, Sara smiled back. "Did you make me something?" She put her hand in the bag, expecting to pull out a macaroni covered pencil holder like the one Catherine kept on her desk, and was shocked when she felt her fingers close around a small box. Confused, she pulled it out of the gift bag and stared at the tiny jeweler's box.

"Open it!"

A lovely little gold locket lay on the black velvet in her palm. "Um…wow."

"I got it for you," Brenda said excitedly. "Well, I gave Gil my allowance money and then told him what to get."

"Well, thank you both, then," Sara said.

"It was all Brenda," Grissom assured her.

The little girl was giddy. "Put it on!"

Nodding, Sara took the locket out of the box and undid the clasp. She encircled her neck with the chain and attempted to close it, fumbling a bit.

"Allow me," Grissom said softly, handing the box in his hands to Brenda before taking the chain.

"Thank you," Sara said, adjusting the locket against her skin, more than a little flushed. "I guess we should get going."

"Don't you want to open Gil's present?"

Sara stuttered but he cut her off. "Oh, you don't have to. It's…it's not anything you can wear to dinner. It's alright. You can open it later, if you like."

She shook her head numbly. "No. No, of course I'll open it now. Sorry," she laughed, "I'm not used to presents." Sara took the cream colored box from Brenda. After untying the thin, red ribbon, she lifted the cover and began to peel back the layers of tissue paper. It took a moment for Sara to register what was in front of her.

"A book?" Brenda asked, peeking over the edge of the box.

Sara nodded. It was a book. But not just any book. "This is a first edition, isn't it?" she said, her mouth suddenly bone dry.

"Uh, yeah. I knew you liked _Little Women_, so…"

"What's a first edition?" Brenda asked.

Sara blinked at her. "It's, uh, um…it's the first printing of a book. You know your copy of _Little Women_? Well, it was printed in the last couple of years. This," she said, gingerly lifting the front cover, "was printed in…1868."

The little girl's eyes grew wide. "When Louisa May Alcott was _alive_?"

"Yes," Sara said. She looked up at Grissom. "Wow, this is just…amazing. Thank you. I mean…wow. Wow."

"You're very welcome."

Clutching the book in her hands, she stared at him for a moment. "I guess I'll go put this in the library." Sara escaped through the large door of the library and walked quickly to the far edge of the room. She held the book to her chest and braced her body against a shelf with one arm, breathing deeply. Had she been alone in the house, she would've cried. As it was, Sara willed herself into a calm state and then lovingly put the book on the shelf. She'd research how to care for it when they got home.

Grissom and Brenda were discussing the year 1868 when she returned.

"So was Lincoln alive?"

"No, he died in 1865."

"Oh."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "You guys ready?"

"Yep," Brenda smiled. "So, are you having a nice birthday so far?"

She reached out and held her hand as they walked to the car. "The best."

TBC…


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46 

Sara learned a very valuable parenting lesson the night of her birthday: children and five-star restaurants do not mix. Brenda's excitement over the lush decor soon turned to vocal disappointment the moment she opened her menu. French cuisine did not rank on the ten-year-old's list of favorite foods. When Grissom explained what escargot meant, a queasy look passed over the girl's face, and she was practically green when she saw calf's brains were an entree. After the blandest of the food offered was ordered, Sara decided to try to start some conversation, hoping Brenda's uncharacteristically bad mood would lift.

It didn't.

Grissom fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable, and Sara gave cheering up her daughter another go. "Brenda, weren't you telling me before about Picasso's Blue Period and how it was your favorite?"

"Yes," came the girl's monotonic response.

Sara's jaw clenched slightly. "So…what do you know about his Blue Period?"

"Picasso was depressed during the Blue Period. His friend killed himself and that's why he was blue," Brenda said stonily.

Sara swallowed hard. "Oh."

The food arrived before anything else could be said, and Sara was thankful until she saw Brenda take the first spoonful of her soup and frown. "I don't like it."

"Bathroom." Sara stood up from her seat and placed her napkin on the chair.

Brenda looked up at her, wide-eyed. "What?"

"Come on, you haven't washed your hands," Sara said sternly. "Bathroom."

The little girl reluctantly got up and followed her mother to the bathroom. Sara said nothing until they reached the large, spacious restroom, which was fortunately empty. She kneeled down to Brenda's level and looked her in the eye. "What is wrong?"

The girl simultaneously shrugged and rolled her eyes. "Nothing."

"_Brenda…_"

"What?"

"You were being rude," Sara told her. "You picked out this restaurant and Gil was nice enough to take us here," she said in a high whisper. "And all you're doing is complaining, sweetheart. Why?"

"It's not…it's not how I thought it would be," Brenda explained. "It's boring. The food is weird. We can't talk in loud voices. This was supposed to be fun. It's your birthday!"

Sara put her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Brenda," she smiled, "this is the best birthday of my life. I'm saying goodbye to thirty-three, and that number was a very big number for me: I changed my job at thirty-three, bought a house, and, most importantly, became a mom. And this is the first time ever where I'm looking forward to what the next year brings – and it's something I want to celebrate with you and with Gil."

"But I wanted to do something special."

"This _is_ special. We get to dress up, try food we've never had before," Sara said softly. "And I'm here with you guys. It doesn't get any better, kiddo."

Brenda sighed. "So you're happy?"

"Yes!" Sara laughed. "Very. I just need you to do me a favor."

"What?"

"Could you smile a little more? I think Gil's scared that you're disappointed."

"Well, I am."

It was Sara's turn to roll her eyes. "Well, could you try to not be so…obvious about it? He wanted you to pick the restaurant so you would have a good time." And a good time didn't run cheap, apparently, Sara mused to herself. Her jaw dropped when she saw the prices in the menu, but decided not to say anything to Grissom about it until they left. He was being ridiculously generous. She knew he must've received quite an advance from his publisher, but Sara felt guilty that he was spending money on her.

When they returned to the table, Brenda, now assured that her mother was enjoying her birthday, smiled and talked. Sara could see Grissom slowly start to enjoy himself, though he never fully loosened up after witnessing Brenda's initial unhappiness.

The drive home started out silent. Brenda, full on dessert – the one thing she determined the French did well – was asleep in the backseat. Sara kept stealing glances at Grissom, who seemed content to say nothing. She took her time and admired his appearance. He looked so handsome in his suit. There was something about a dress shirt and tie on him that made Sara damn near swoon every time she saw him. His hair seemed to have more grey than ever, but it didn't make him look old. Instead, it seemed to brighten his face up, especially when he smiled.

For a moment, Sara stared into her lap, wondering if it was love that made every one of his features seem special to her. She knew it was pathetic. She was a grown woman, not a schoolgirl with a crush. She was a mother. And Sara knew it wasn't right for Brenda's mother to be thinking of creative ways to use Grissom's tie that didn't involve his neck.

He parked in the driveway and immediately got out of the car to open her door. She retrieved Brenda from the backseat and carried her to the front door. "Um…my keys…" Sara began.

"Oh," he exclaimed, noticing that her hands were full, "I still have the one you gave me from when you were sick," Grissom explained, pulling out his keychain to open the door. "You, uh, probably want it back."

"No, keep it," she said as she stepped into the foyer.

"Keep it?"

"Yeah, you might as well. If I ever get locked out, I'll call you."

He coughed. "Right. Yes. If you ever get locked out."

"I'm just going to put her to bed. I'll be back in a minute."

Grissom put his hands in his pockets. "I guess I'll just go, then. You're probably tired."

"No. No, don't go yet. I mean…just let me put her down. I'll be back in a sec."

As quick as she possibly could, Sara tucked Brenda into bed and came back down the stairs, trying her best not to appear too eager. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"I'm sorry about the restaurant. The food was…"

"Not what Brenda was used to," Sara said, finishing his sentence. "Don't worry. I'm sorry about how she acted. Really. But we both had a wonderful time. You shouldn't have done all this – the dinner and the book. It was too much."

"Sara, I eat here practically every night."

"Yeah, but…well, you really didn't have to. Thank you, though." She took a deep breath and leaned in close, tilting her head enough to plant a small kiss on his cheek. She felt the roughness of his beard and had to stop herself from instinctively rubbing to test the texture against her lips. Reluctantly, Sara pulled back.

Grissom kept his eyes on her. She couldn't read his expression, but didn't care because the teenage girl in her was giddy at having finally kissed Grissom, albeit on the cheek. "So…will we see you tomorrow? Brenda's friends will be over. They're going to do some research for their science projects."

"Uh…sure. Sure. If you want. Sure." He checked his watch. "You must be tired. I'd better get going." Grissom opened the front door awkwardly. "Happy birthday, Sara." His mouth seemed to frown as he reached out and put a hand on her cheek.

Quick as lightening and light as a feather, he moved close and placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth, and then walked out the door.

TBC…


	47. Chapter 47

A/N: I'm changing the rating to M just in case I'll need it for future chapters.

Chapter 47

As the final minutes of her birthday ticked by, Sara sat at the foot of the stairs, wondering if every action in Grissom's arsenal was a deliberate attempt to confuse, bewilder, and enchant her. It was a whisper of a kiss -- something that could easily be attributed to bad aim. It was scary to consider that prospect, and it was even scarier for Sara to assume that his actions were deliberate. The half kiss had left her giddy at the touch of his lips, but terrified of the fallout. In the past, one step forward usually led to two steps back when it came to Grissom.

Sara had no idea what two steps forward would look like.

Over the years, she had envisioned dating Grissom in so many different scenarios but none ever included a ten-year-old child with a keen sense of her surroundings. Brenda was, by far and away, her number one priority and Sara was worried about possibly getting involved with a man who had, at times, left her emotionally exhausted in the past.

It was too much to think about, so Sara threw herself into activities the following day, from making chocolate chip pancakes for Brenda in the morning to helping out her daughter and her friends with research for their science projects in the afternoon. The three children were spread out on the dining room table, alternately scribbling notes and surfing the web on Sara's laptop for information. Brenda had settled on bacterial analysis thanks to Grissom who, weeks ago, had informed the little girl that her mother was a germ freak. He promised to use his contacts to help Brenda in her quest to find the dirtiest public restroom in Las Vegas. Though Sara feared the topic would go far over her daughter's head, the girl seemed to understand some basic concepts necessary to at least continue with her research. Grissom assured them he'd call in some favors and that the lab fees would be nothing.

"Sara, I have lived here for twenty years. A lot of people owe me," he had smiled slyly when Brenda first brought up the cleanliness of toilet water at the dinner table.

Sara sighed at the memory as she checked her watch. Grissom never had a set time for arriving, but he always showed up before six o'clock. It was a quarter to seven and Sara was beginning to think that this was the first of his two steps back from her. The doorbell rang while she was in the bathroom and Brenda ran to answer it. Sara could hear the little girl nonchalantly introduce him to her friends as she walked into the dining room. Norah and Martin mumbled their hellos.

"Hey," Sara said, coming up behind Grissom.

He turned around and looked relieved to see her. "Hello."

With the children in deep discussion about the merits of Google versus AskJeeves, Sara smiled at Grissom and reached for his elbow. "Come on, you can help me make a salad."

"Something smells good," he noted upon entering the kitchen.

"The kids made pizza. It'll be ready in a few minutes." She got out the ingredients for a salad and they got to work. In silence, Grissom chopped the lettuce while Sara sliced the tomatoes. She wanted to say…something. He had kissed her the night before but was paying more attention to the Romaine in front of him.

Sara sighed and listened to the kids' voices waft in from the dining room.

"I'm getting hungry," Brenda complained.

"Yeah, me too," Norah agreed.

"Hey, is that guy your mom's boyfriend?"

Just as Sara squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment at Martin's blunt question, she heard Grissom swear softly and drop his knife. On his left forefinger was a gash that was quickly seeping blood onto the cutting board. Sara immediately let go of her own knife and grabbed a clean kitchen towel to wrap around his injured finger. "Come on," she said quietly, "there's a First Aid kit in my bathroom."

They walked up the stairs and Grissom waited while Sara retrieved the kit from under the vanity. She slowly unwrapped his finger, wincing at the injury, before bringing his hand to the sink to rinse the wound. "Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Grissom, you need stitches," she said as she swabbed his finger with a healthy dose of hydrogen peroxide.

He bit his lip and shook his head. "I'm fine. Fine."

Sara applied antibacterial ointment to his finger and began to bandage it, reiterating his need for stitches. "I'll drive you to the hospital."

"Sara I really don't –"

"You do."

"But, the kids…you can't leave them alone," he argued.

"They can come, too."

Grissom shook his head. "I'll drive myself."

"Your hand –"

"Sara, I can drive. It's okay."

His hand rest in hers and they watched each other for a long while. She searched his eyes for something, anything – a sign of his feelings – but he was so hard to read. He looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept, and his steel grey hair looked almost white under the bright bathroom lights. She could see the unevenness of his hairline – had she ever noticed that before? There was a scar on his nose and one on his eyebrow and at that moment, she was desperate to know how he got them. She wanted to know…everything.

And as her mind raced, he lifted his good hand to her face much like the night before. This time, it was Sara who closed the gap. Grissom's lips were cool to the touch at first, but she held on, tilting her head ever so slightly to change the angle and will him to part his lips. Her tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip and he let out a small, stifled groan before pulling back.

Cheeks red, Grissom shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" she asked.

"I, uh…I should probably go."

"Mom, the oven timer is ringing!"

Sara blinked and sputtered before collecting herself. "I'll be right there!" she called out to Brenda, but her eyes never left his. "Are you going to go to the emergency room?"

"I promise."

She rested her right hand on his cheek just as she had done years before, her thumb absentmindedly stroking from skin to beard.

"Mom, are you coming down?" Brenda yelled. "The timer keeps beeping!"

"You'd better go."

In a daze, she descended the stairs and served pizza to the children.

Brenda looked confused. "Where's Gil?"

"He, uh, got a cut on his hand. He's going to get stitches," Sara explained, checking her watch and wondering if it was too early to call and check up on him. She cleared the dishes and then went to work cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. It felt oddly intimate to wash Grissom's congealed blood off of the cutting board. As she reached for the phone to call him, the doorbell rang. Peggy Oliver had come to collect Norah and Martin, and Sara prepared herself for the onslaught of begging.

"Mom, can't we have a sleepover?"

"You have school tomorrow," Sara said, shaking her head.

"But Martin is sleeping over Norah's house. Tomorrow is a trip. No class," Brenda reminded her. "We're just going to the museum for the day."

"I think you need the night off," Peggy laughed. "You look beat."

Sara crossed her arms over her chest. A night off. She'd be able to check on Grissom in person and Brenda would get what she wanted. "All right," she acquiesced. "Go pack a bag."

Amongst the whooping and cheering, the children ran off to Brenda's room to help gather her things. "Are you feeling okay?" Peggy asked, concerned.

Sara rubbed her eyes. "Long day. Long week. Long year," she sighed, chuckling a bit.

The older woman laughed. "I know what you mean."

TBC…


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

She brought him leftover pizza.

They sat quietly at his kitchen table while he ate. Sara watched his profile as he chewed silently, and Grissom stared straight ahead at the wall, never once turning to his right to address her. She could see from the bandage on his left forefinger that he hadn't bothered to go to the hospital. The dressings she had applied in her bathroom were still covering his wound, but luckily the blood seepage seemed to be at a minimum.

She wanted to call him on it, but neither seemed up for the fight.

He stood up and took his empty plate to the sink. Sara could hear the clatter of the ceramic against steel before it was drowned out by the gush of running water. Grissom stood with his back to her, hands braced on either side of the sink.

She cleared her throat. "Should we talk about what happened before?"

He didn't make a move. "It would probably be best if we didn't."

Her hands were folded on the table and she inspected them closely for a long moment before looking back up at his form. "What if I want to?"

"I think you should go…Sara."

Grissom's head seemed to hang lower, as if his entire body was kept up only by the two hands planted on the edges of the sink. He said nothing else. That was all she needed. She was done. In under a minute, Sara was back in her car and, for the first time in six months, wishing she hadn't sworn off alcohol. She passed two liquor stores on her way home before pulling into a gas station and picking up a six-pack of Heineken. Brenda wasn't home. She could drink a beer or two and be alright to go to work in the morning.

Sara didn't even bother to lock her car. She just parked it in her driveway and grabbed the beer out of the passenger's seat without a second glance. Because no alcohol was kept in the house, they didn't own a bottle opener. Sara had to root around Brenda's room for the Swiss Army knife Norah's father had given her on their fishing trip during the summer. Once located, she ran back down the stairs and grabbed the six-pack of glass bottles by its paper handle, and walked briskly through the screen door onto the back patio.

The moon wasn't out, making the Nevada sky seem more ominous than usual. She felt ominous. She felt dark.

The cool glass neck of the green beer bottle seemed to sizzle against the burn of her hot skin. It felt good. She popped off the cap and almost quivered at the sound, that lovely, lovely hum and hiss of the beer hitting the night air, a sound that had soothed her on many such nights.

Sara raised the rim to her lips and took a giant, rebellious swig that filled her mouth with the once familiar bitterness that proceeded every numbing session.

And she coughed it up, sputtering and spitting the contents of her mouth onto the terracotta floor.

Tears. There were tears running down her face and Sara wiped them with the back of her hand, half annoyed and half surprised. With all her might, she hurled the open bottle onto the patio, watching the green glass that looked so black in the night shatter on the tile.

More tears fell as, one by one, Sara smashed the bottles onto the floor. Beer splattered onto her jeans and shoes as she doubled over, weeping into her hands, disgusted with herself. Her stomach began to seize and she tripped, landing on her knees near the edge of the pool. Sara leaned forward and threw up into the water before her arms collapsed under her weight. She rolled to her side, managing to avoid the broken glass, and stared into oblivion.

So many of the crappy cards in her poker hand had been dealt to her before birth. Her parents, the cause of so much pain and confusion and self-loathing, had been unavoidable forces in her life. For good or bad -- and mostly bad -- they had shaped the outcome of so much. And without Sara's input involved.

But this…with this she had a choice. She could lay on the ground amongst the broken glass. Or she could go on.

Like so many times before, Sara picked herself up and dusted herself off. She'd clean the broken bottles in the morning. All she wanted was a shower and eight solid hours of sleep to get her head on straight before she had to face work and her child again. She pulled off her clothes and climbed into the shower, the tepid water lulling her into a dreamy state, so much on the cusp of sleep that the knocking seemed more fantasy than reality.

"Sara?"

Through the frosted glass, she could see the outline of his body.

"Sara?"

She shut off the water.

"Sara, I…I…don't know." He sighed.

She pushed open the shower door and he lifted his head in surprise. Their eyes met for a brief moment before he turned away. "I'm sorry."

Sara stepped out of the shower and lifted her bathrobe from a nearby hook. She slowly slipped into it, belting it tightly before clearing her throat, signaling to Grissom that she was covered. She wasn't cool with him, but she wasn't warm either.

He faced her once again, looking absolutely defeated. He stared at his hands.

Sara looked up at the ceiling briefly and shook her head. "You know, when I left your place I went to the nearest gas station and bought a six-pack of beer."

Grissom's eyes widened and in them she saw a mixture of guilt and fear, but not anger. At least, not anger towards her.

"I tried to drink it," she continued, "but I couldn't."

"Where is the beer now?"

"Evaporating, probably. I broke the bottles on the back patio."

"Is the broken glass still there?"

"Yes. I'll clean it up in the morning."

"I can clean it up now."

She shook her head. "It's my mess. I'll clean it up."

"But I can --"

"Why are you here?"

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Why are you here?" Sara repeated. "What are you doing here, Grissom?" She shook her head again. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm your friend."

"No, you're not. We're not friends. Friends don't…friends don't do this," she said. "Friends…I can't be your friend. And you are not my friend."

"Tell me what you want me to be and I'll be it," he said emphatically.

"Grissom…no. No. That's not…that's not what I want," Sara told him, her throat painful with emotion. "I'm not going to give you instructions on what to do with me. What I want isn't going to work because it's not what you want."

He seemed to concentrate on whatever was behind her as he stood silently. Sara was calculating a great escape, a way to end their relationship with minimal pain, all the while knowing that breaking ties with Grissom would be nothing less than excruciating.

Still, it was her choice, a choice she could make on her own now.

"I want to clean up that glass."

She shook her head. "What?"

"What I want is to clean up the broken glass on your patio. And you'll want it cleaned up before Brenda gets home from school tomorrow."

"Grissom, I--"

His hand moved up to slip into the belt of her robe. He closed his fist around the terrycloth knot and gently pulled her closer. "I don't know what you want. I have no idea. But I want you." He let go of the knot. "I'm going to go clean up the glass now."

TBC…


	49. Chapter 49

A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback. Real life is very involved right now. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Chapter 49

Sara stood motionless in her bathroom for a full ten minutes. Grissom had gone to the patio, presumably to clean up her mess, and while he swept broken glass, she reeled from his admission.

He wanted her.

That he wanted her was not so much of a shock. She was a reasonably attractive women, she knew, and could clean up quite nicely when she tried. That he admitted it out loud -- to her and to himself -- was what left Sara stunned, still as a statue. Their whole relationship was built on the denial of his attraction and the divulgence of hers. She pursued and he retreated.

Sara had to wonder if his confession meant Grissom was switching gears, beginning to actively pursue for himself. She had no intention of retreating, however.

Still clad in her bathrobe, Sara strode with purpose down the stairs. She slipped on a pair of flip flops and slid the patio door open. Grissom was on his knees, meticulously sweeping up the glass shards off the terracotta tile. He looked up at her when he heard the latch of the door click, his gaze meeting her eyes before traveling down to her feet to make sure they were protected.

"Do you need help?"

"No, I'm fine," he told her before getting back to work.

Sara took a seat on a nearby lounger and watched him. He gave the task the same degree of attention he would a crime scene. "Don't let Brenda out here without shoes," he told her as he slowly pushed himself up off of his knees and retrieved the dustpan from the floor. Grissom emptied it into a nearby heavy-duty black garbage bag and then turned to her awkwardly, as if he wasn't sure what to do around her now that the mess was gone.

She crossed her legs and narrowed her eyes. "I've got a conference in Houston in two and a half weeks. Come with me."

Grissom's mouth formed a small 'O' but no sound came out.

"I was going to think of some way to get out of it," Sara continued, "maybe get someone else on dayshift to go in my place…but…I think you should go with me."

"Sara, I-I'm not working for the lab right now, I-"

"I don't mean come to the conference. I mean come to Houston. This has nothing to do with work."

Everything she was implying seemed hit him at once and all awkwardness in his demeanor disappeared, replaced by a calm that made her nervous. "You'll fax me the information so I can buy a plane ticket?"

"Yes," she said, suddenly feeling chilled.

"You should go inside. It's getting cold and you're still wet."

They walked back into the house, Grissom stopping in the kitchen to dispose of the garbage bag full of glass. "Goodnight, Sara," he said, getting his car keys out of his pocket as he approached the front door. Grissom was halfway over the threshold when he turned around, knocking into her. "Sorry," he mumbled, cupped her jaw with a hand and gave her a small kiss -- a peck -- on the lips before continuing out the door.

Sara didn't sleep. She should've, but she couldn't. Her mind wouldn't shut down. A second wind luckily kicked in an hour into her shift so she was able to get through the day without making any egregious errors. By the time she picked up Brenda from school, however, Sara was running on fumes.

"Hey, Mom."

"Hey, B," Sara said, taking the schoolbag from her daughter and helping her into the SUV. "Did you have fun on your trip."

"On the way to the museum our bus ran over a opossum. It was so gross."

Sara chuckled. "I'm glad the museum had a lasting effect on you."

Brenda was silent for a while, a long while -- long enough to have her mother look up at the review mirror curiously. "What's on your mind?"

"Is Gil your boyfriend?"

Sara coughed. "Excuse me?"

"Is Gil your boyfriend?"

"W-why would you ask that?"

In the mirror, she could see Brenda shrug. "Martin asked me last night if you and Gil were boyfriend and girlfriend."

"And…what did you tell him?"

"I told him you were friends," the girl answered.

"Okay."

"But then Norah said she overheard her mom tell her dad that you were too pretty not to have a boyfriend."

Sara swallowed hard. "Okay."

"So…I mean, you said he was your friend and that he's only over every night because you're helping him out."

"Uh-huh."

"So, is he your boyfriend?"

Eyes wide, Sara shifted in her seat and gripped the steering wheel. The tone in Brenda's voice made evident the fact that an answer in the affirmative would only arouse indignation on the part of the little girl. And was the truthful answer yes anyway? Sara wasn't so sure. The night before, they had planned an affair to take place in a fortnight and some change. It was scheduled sex and though Sara could not be sure if it changed the label on their relationship, Grissom's small kiss goodbye certainly thrust them out of the realm of the pseudofriendship that had been taking place for over a decade.

"No."

She felt ashamed for more than one reason. It wasn't an outright lie, but it was close enough. Brenda's question didn't revolve around the typical definition of boyfriend. Grissom didn't take Sara out on dates or buy her flowers and candy. He hadn't even slept with her. But that wasn't the point -- or it wasn't Brenda's point, anyway. Grissom was the man in Sara's life and so, in every way that mattered, he was her boyfriend. To say he wasn't insulted the three of them.

But Sara knew there was nothing she could do. To go into detail about her feelings for him, besides being confusing and inappropriate, would only hinder future interaction between Brenda and Grissom. And then Grissom would no doubt sense Brenda's discomfort and retreat. She'd be left with an angry daughter and no…boyfriend. No Grissom.

Still, a lie was a lie.

Sara pulled into the driveway and sighed. "Brenda, Gil is…Gil is very important to me. Remember when you were asking about the Olympics last week and how the medals go in order from Gold to Silver to Bronze?"

"Yeah," she answered, a bit leery of the direction of the conversation.

"Well," Sara continued, turning in her seat so she could look at Brenda, "if I had to give out medals to the most important people in my life, you'd get the Gold. _And _the Silver. _And _the Bronze. Okay?"

"Okay."

"But in fourth place would be Gil. And even though he doesn't get a medal, he's still up there. He's still…important."

"But I'm the most important?"

"Right. You get all the medals. And even though I was helping him out for a little while because he was having a hard time, he's helped me out through a lot too. Remember when I was sick and he helped take care of me?" she reminded Brenda, who nodded. "And now he's helping you with your science project and you two are already planning your next diorama to go with your book report. He's…he's good to have around, isn't he?"

"I guess. I mean, I like him."

"So do I. Now, can you see why he's an important person in my life?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Sara ended it at that. She couldn't go into depth about her relationship with Grissom because, first of all, she wasn't sure what her relationship with Grissom was, and even if she did have any idea how to describe it, it wasn't something a mother discusses with her daughter. She yawned and got out of the car, feeling the lack of sleep catch up to her. By the time Grissom came and the takeout was ordered, Sara was on her last legs. She nodded off as Brenda began to divvy up the Monopoly money for their game only to be awoken a couple of hours later by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hey."

Sara blinked and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light. "Hey."

"Brenda went to bed a little while ago," Grissom explained as he finished putting away the game. "She beat me soundly. I mortgaged all my properties, sold my railroads….she's a killer."

Smiling sleepily, Sara stretched. "Yeah, I haven't won a game yet. Sorry, I fell asleep. I was more tired than I thought."

"Don't worry about it. We had a good time."

_Because she thinks your not my boyfriend_, Sara thought to herself.

"I guess I'll get going. It's getting late."

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeated and she got up to walk him to the front door. "Goodnight, Sara."

He kissed her again, another small peck. It tasted of peanuts and the burrito he ate at dinner, and Grissom pulled back suddenly, as if he had just realized his breath was less than savory. "Sorry, I--"

She shook her head and gave him another small kiss to ease his mind. "Did you get my fax?"

"What? Oh, yes. I did. Thank you."

"So you ordered your ticket?" she asked, eyebrows raised slightly.

"Yes, I did."

"Good. Good."

"Yeah. Uh, goodnight."

Sara smiled and watched him walk to his car, watched him drive away, and thought it was high time the Olympics came up with a fourth place medal.

TBC…


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50

The month of October slowly drifted by and life proceeded as normal – on the surface. Grissom and Sara never discussed their upcoming trip. It was planned via fax, which was oddly appropriate seeing how they were not the most verbal of couples. It started out with Sara sending him a copy of her ticket and their itinerary. After confirming that he had received the fax, she expected the correspondence to end.

It didn't.

Two days later, she heard the whir of the machine early in the morning as she checked e-mail in her home office. A piece of paper eased out of her fax, confusing her at first until she recognized the handwriting scribbled across the sheet: _Sara, we never discussed the room situation. I booked a suite of my own because I do not want you to feel any pressure from my end._

Without a moment's pause, Sara placed the note down on her desk and pulled a clean sheet of paper from her printer. She quickly penned a short response, saying the message under her breath as she wrote it out across the white surface. "Unbook it. There's no pressure. If you want to back out now, say so."

She didn't bother signing her name. The paper was quickly loaded into the fax machine and Sara loomed over as her message was scanned and sent. She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, not so much angry as she was frustrated. A year ago, six months ago, ten days ago the note would've sent her into a frenzy of self-doubt, her first thought being that he didn't find her attractive, that he didn't want to be with her.

But he wanted her. She saw it in his eyes, felt it as he had grabbed the belt of her robe and pulled her a fraction of an inch closer. But when it came to Grissom, Sara had learned, with desire came fear. She recalled the death of Debbie Marlin and Grissom's defeated confession of his feelings for her to Debbie's murderer. He had recognized that she could make him happy, but he was terrified of the risk involved.

This trip was no different.

It was as if he saw happiness as a trap, a ruse to lure him into something sinister. Perhaps the scientist in him was always looking for the other side of the story, the flipside of the coin. She knew she should've been insulted by the very notion of that, but it was real life. Nothing was always good or always bad. If he needed to feel his way around their relationship, so be it. Sara had been patient for so long without him that working things out slowly after they got together didn't seem like such a daunting task. And considering her situation as a new single mother, taking things slow didn't seem like such a bad idea.

The fax machine began to hum again and Sara blinked widely as she watched paper slide out.

_Sara –_

_I don't want to back out of anything. I needed to let you know that you have a choice. I've made no secret of my feelings for you, but I never wanted you to feel obligated. Consider the suite unbooked. _

When he came over for dinner that night, she had expected some sort of continuation of their fax-aided discussion, but Grissom didn't utter a word and neither did Sara. Instead they both seemed to concentrate all of their energy on Brenda. They talked about her upcoming school projects, went over the state capitals for her social studies quiz, and debated the merits of dogs versus cats as pets. While the subjects did not vary in terms of what was always discussed among the three at the dinner table, what differed was the fact that Grissom and Sara barely addressed each other. All of the focus was on Brenda. Anyone observing might have guessed the two adults were a married couple on the verge of divorce, spending all of their time on the child instead of turning the attention to their frayed union.

Still, he kissed her goodnight again. It was another small peck, but this time Sara was prepared for it and held on for a second or two longer, humming a bit.

Life continued as such, with Grissom and Sara faxing cautiously flirtatious notes to each other at the crack of dawn before ignoring one another throughout dinner. They always ended the night with a kiss, though.

_Bring a jacket just in case it's cold in Houston_, Grissom had written her one morning. _I learned my lesson working a case in San Antonio ten years ago. It can get chilly at night._

She smiled before quickly writing her response: _I don't plan on spending my nights outside._ Sara paused for a moment and considered not faxing the playful comeback. There was always the chance that he'd freeze up and things would once again ooze awkwardness. She sighed and loaded the paper into the machine, curious if he'd answer.

And he did.

_In that case, pack very light._

Sara had to smile. She went through the remainder of her day light as a feather. The evening progressed as usual, with Brenda commanding all of their attention, but when she was tucked away into bed and it was time to say goodbye to Grissom, Sara followed him outside, closing the front door behind her.

"Are you all packed?"

Grissom cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah."

"So am I. I actually have been for a week and a half." She grinned shyly, hoping her admission didn't make her seem too eager.

"I, um…I figured I'd try to get some more of my book done while you were at the conference, so I'll be bringing my laptop."

Sara nodded. "Good idea."

"Yeah."

Neither seemed willing to fully address the elephant in the room: sex. No matter how they tried to class it up with talk of conferences and writing, the main attraction was the fact that, at some point on their trip, they'd be taking off all of their clothes.

"The sitter is all set to take care of Brenda for the next couple of days. I'm going to drive her to school tomorrow morning instead of letting her go on the bus, though," Sara told him. "It's the last time I'll be seeing her for two days. It's weird."

"It must be. You both are so close," Grissom remarked.

"So…how do you want to work this? Should we just meet at the airport? Do you want to take a cab together?"

He wiped his palms on his hips. "I don't know. Do you want me to drive here and then we can take the cab together?"

"Your car would be in the driveway, though."

"Yeah, so?"

"Brenda will see it," Sara explained.

"Oh. Right. Brenda. I forgot." Grissom swallowed and stared at the front door, deep in thought. "Well, the plane leaves at noon so how about I pick you up at eight-thirty and we take a cab from my place?"

She considered it for a moment. "Sounds good. I'll be ready."

"Good," he nodded. "All right. Bye." Grissom leaned in to kiss her as was their habit, and she met him, tilting her head, always granting him more access to take though he never seemed to go any further than a gentle press of the lips.

He pulled back and started to bid her goodnight when she held him closer, pressing her body up against his in their first official hug. Her mouth found his ear and she closed her eyes, whispering, "Don't think this thing to death, all right? Just let it be." Sara kissed his temple and then his lips once more before retreating to her house.

Her hand was on the doorknob when she heard his voice rasp out what sounded like a plea. "Sara, I don't want to disappoint you."

She turned around. "You won't."

"You don't know that."

Sighing, she let go of the handle. "Grissom, I don't want to disappoint you, either. So we're going to just have to trust each other with this. All I want is for you to try."

"I am trying."

"I know," she smiled tiredly. "And it's working. I'll see you tomorrow at eight-thirty. Goodnight, Grissom."

"Goodnight, Sara."

TBC…


	51. Chapter 51

Chapter 51

She was running late. Brenda had been lagging the whole morning and Sara's bright idea to drive the girl to school turned out to be a bad move -- traffic was backed up as far as the eye could see. A tank full of something foul-smelling had spilled on the freeway and all cars were diverted for the cleanup. Brenda ended up reaching her school doors at eight thirty. As Sara watched her daughter disappear into the large building, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Grissom's number.

"Hey."

"I'm late," she said apologetically as she began her drive home.

"Yeah, I figured. Your car isn't in the driveway." He didn't seem at all pissed off like she expected. It suddenly occurred to her that Grissom being made to wait at a crime scene was quite different than Grissom being made to wait for his almost-girlfriend.

Sara balanced the phone between her shoulder and cheek. "Where are you now?"

"In front of your house."

"Go in. It's why you have the key."

"Um…"

Knowing that he'd feel more comfortable in her house alone if there was a purpose for him being there, she jumped in before he could finish. "Could you do me a favor since I'm running late? There are some boxes on the dining room table; could you load those in your car? They're for the conference."

"Boxes?"

"There are only a few -- small ones. Ecklie thought it would be a good idea to have brochures for the lab. You know, for recruitment," Sara explained. "It was a last-minute thing. He foisted this on me yesterday." There was silence on the other line. "So will you do it?"

"Uh, sure. Sure."

When Sara arrived home, Grissom greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and questions about the brochures.

"I have the prototype somewhere…" Sara said, searching. "Here it is."

He took the bright, multi-colored folded oaktag from her hand. "Huh. How did Ecklie trick you into taking these along?" Grissom smirked.

"Trick me?"

"Yeah. He's been trying to rope me into these kind of shameless plugs for years. I never took the bait."

"Shameless plug? It's a brochure. I'm not handing out gift certificates for hookers," Sara told him, quite surprised at his reaction.

Grissom shrugged. "The work sells itself. This stuff," he said, holding up the brochure, "doesn't matter. You know that."

She raised an eyebrow. "It's just a brochure. And what good would it have done me to say no to Ecklie? I mean, if I'm ever going to take over when Dr. Woo leaves, I have to help with recruitment."

The look in his face changed. He seemed mildly amused before, but her last comment had his mouth straightening. "I forgot that that mattered to you."

Sara furrowed her brows. "What? What Ecklie thinks? I don't give a shit about him."

"No. Not Ecklie. Just…the status. Advancement."

She could feel her own expression morph from that of bewilderment to a sinking feeling of familiarity when it came to the job and Grissom. While working a case, knee-deep in evidence, they were equals. When collecting $200 and passing Go in a game of Monopoly, they were equals. But when it came to lab politics, the dynamic between them shifted. It shifted and Sara got angry. She shook her head. "Why is ambition such a dirty word to you? Or is it just dirty where I'm concerned?"

"Sara, it's not…I -- you're better than that," he said, grasping at straws.

"No, I'm not. I'm not better than that," she told him, the words bitter though she kept them light.

"You're still angry that I recommended Nick for that promotion a few years ago," Grissom surmised.

"No. Yes. Maybe," Sara said. "I don't know. I know I didn't approve of your reasoning." She suddenly felt very cold and wrapped her arms protectively over her middle as she recalled the explanation he had given her as they sprayed Sam Braun's limo with luminol. She thought she had put it past her, that all was forgiven, but it still stung.

"Sara, I --"

"It was bullshit and you know it. Nick wanted that position as much as I did. If he didn't, he wouldn't have applied," she pointed out. "And everyone else has gotten promoted while I've been at the lab: Greg, Warrick, Catherine -- I've seen Catherine bitch to you on more than one occasion that she deserved to be supervisor; she fought for an office, she fought for a raise. And yet…nothing. You say nothing." It was all so…frustrating. Every ounce of frustration that had plagued Sara for five years came flooding back to her, mixing and mingling with the more recent memories of the happy, quiet times she'd shared with Grissom and Brenda.

"I guess I've always…expected more from you."

"You expect more and you give less."

"I know."

She scoffed at his easy admission.

He scratched his temple. "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to say I had some kind of grand reason behind it all? I don't know why I did what I did. Sara, when you're around…logic flies out the window. Do you know how scary that is? For me?"

"It may be scary for you, but it's my _life_," she argued back. "It's not a game."

"I was trying to protect you. Well, part of me was. That was part of the reason," Grissom said, his voice low. "You couldn't have been deaf to the rumors."

Sara was indignant. "Rumors are just that: gossip based on mere speculation."

"Careers have been ruined for much less."

Echoes of his confession to Dr. Vincent Lurie swam through her head. "Whose career were you trying to protect?"

"Yours. Mine. It was complicated and not all of it made sense," he sighed. "At least, it doesn't make sense now."

"But you still think less of me for wanting to get ahead." It wasn't a question. She already knew the answer. "Grissom, I don't know anything about your childhood, but I'd venture to guess it wasn't much like mine. Every moment, every single millisecond, I was conscious of my status in the world. And I was conscious of the fact that the only person who was going to get me out of hell on Earth was me. I wasn't a pretty kid, Grissom. I wasn't sweet. I had no redeeming qualities save for my brain. And I used it. I'm not ashamed of it. Now, I know you see this as some sort of intellectual prostitution, but --"

"Don't put words in my mouth. I never said that."

"You said as much."

"No, I didn't."

"But you --"

"I think you're amazing, Sara," Grissom interrupted. "That has never been in question. I just…I don't understand why you don't see that."

She shook her head. "I think you have to ask yourself why you think it's okay for everyone else to advance while I stay stagnant."

He sighed and rubbed his temple, taking a seat on the living room couch. "When you came to Las Vegas, I…I was afraid I had made a mistake." As if he could sense he was making an affront on her intelligence, Grissom held up a hand. "I was sure you could do the job," he assured her. "You could do it in your sleep -- not that you ever slept. But…I don't just hire CSIs out of the blue like I did with you. Warrick interned at the lab for three years before he was hired. Nick had to apply twice. But you -- I brought you to Las Vegas to investigate the events surrounding the murder of another CSI. You weren't there when it first happened," he continued. "Remember when the lab blew up and everything was nuts?" She nodded. "Well, when Holly Gribbs got shot, it was like the lab blew up but without the all the debris. The place was in chaos: the daughter of a decorated officer was shot on her first night out, Brass was in the doghouse, Warrick was going to get fired -- it was serious, Sara. Dr. Cavallo wanted to bring in a special task force to investigate everything, to clean house. But my first instinct was to call you."

She took a seat next to him on the couch. "I remember that call."

"I was happy to talk to you. Relieved," he added. "And when I put down the phone, I realized why I was asking you to come. The lab was a mess, I was short staffed, my best friend had been demoted and…I called you. Not because I wanted you to fix everything, but because…I wanted to see you. I called you because at that very moment I knew you'd make me feel better."

Grissom slouched forward and stared at his folded hands in his lap. "You're going to hate me, but I didn't hire you for you. I hired you for me."

Sara swallowed. He looked like he was confessing to a crime. She tried to absorb his words but she didn't understand the point behind them. Why was he telling her all of this? Was he cutting his losses? She felt fear grip her, seizing her stomach. "So…I'm here because --"

"I needed to see you," he said softly. "I just…I wanted you around. I wasn't thinking. And then Brass saw you and he laughed at me. He said…"

"What did he say?"

Grissom shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"What did he say?" Sara repeated, surprised she still had her voice. Her face was tingling with heat as she leaned forward, watching his profile.

"He said, 'I'm glad someone around here is getting laid.'"

Sara's eyes widened while Grissom's expression remained the same.

"Just like that. He said it in front of, oh, five or six people." Grissom cleared his throat. "That's how they saw you. That's how they saw us. They thought I brought you here so you could be with me -- and maybe they weren't wrong. And maybe I punished you for it."

Her upper arm was flush against his and she could feel the heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He had yet to look at her. "I don't know what do say."

Grissom finally turned his head to face her. "You don't have to say anything. It's me who should apologize."

"So apologize."

His mouth opened and then shut before he pressed his lips together in thought. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I, uh…I probably should go."

"Why?"

Grissom looked confused. "Because of…well…"

"Just sit," she told him, placing a hand on his knee to keep him from getting up. "Sit." Sara needed time to adjust to all of the new information. And she also needed to say a few things of her own. "You can't…you can't play with me like that."

"I know that."

"Do you? Do you, really?" she asked earnestly. He looked back down at his lap but she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, getting his attention. "What am I to you?"

Grissom just stared at her for a long moment. She was sure he'd make an excuse and leave, but he surprised her. "You're my first thought. And…I've blamed you for that for a long time. Sara, I don't know how you can…welcome me…into your life after everything that's happened."

She shrugged her shoulders. "That's not for you to decide." With one hand still resting on the crook of his elbow, Sara let her other hand join its twin and they sat for a long while, leaning into each other, with his arm in her loose grip.

"Do you still want me to come with you?"

"Mm-hmm," she said, nodding her head as it rested against his shoulder.

"I, uh…where's your bag. We should probably load it into my car."

"It's in my room," she answered, lifting her head. They walked the flight of stairs up to her bedroom. As Grissom moved to grab the luggage, Sara stopped him. "Hold on, I forgot to put in my toothbrush." She pulled a light brown suit out of her closet and smoothed out phantom wrinkles.

"Does that go in here, too?"

"No, I've got to change," she said, looking down at her light blue T-shirt. "I've got pancake batter on me."

"Oh, so no Lucky Charms today, huh?" he asked, referring to Brenda's favorite breakfast cereal.

Sara smiled and reached for the hem of her shirt. Grissom immediately turned his head. She laughed and threw the shirt into a nearby hamper. "Come on, it's nothing you haven't seen before," she told him, referring to the night he saw her come out of the shower. He slowly turned back around, careful to not look directly at her while she hunted for a bra in her dresser drawer. Though Sara had always been quite comfortable with her body, she felt oddly on display as she stood half-dressed with her naked back to Grissom. Determined to get over her nerves, she shifted slightly to face him as she untwisted the straps of the cream-colored confection and slipped it on. Both scientists were red-faced and out of breath and by the time Sara slipped out of her sweatpants, Grissom had given up trying to avert his eyes. He watched her bend her knees and put her feet through the leg holes in the bottom of her matching panties before sliding them up the long expanse of her legs.

"Right. I'll be outside."

He walked briskly out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Sara stood still, watching the empty doorframe, more aroused than she had ever been in her life. The sound of footsteps bounding back up the stairs had her jumping slightly. Grissom appeared, breathing heavily, in the doorway once again. "I forgot your bag."

He made no move to take it, though, as Sara's hands were already reaching behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra. Grissom made his way to her quickly, placing one hand on the back of her neck to pull her into a kiss and using the other to help strip away the loosened bra.

His tongue was in her mouth for the first time. They had shared so many small, chaste kisses that Sara had almost forgotten that there was more to the meeting of lips than the whisper of gentle promises.

Grissom's right hand smoothed its way down her abdomen and into her panties, shucking away the scrap of silk so he could feel her. The giddiness and heady arousal Sara had felt when he crossed the room to kiss her was replaced by longing -- plain, lustful longing. His fingers played over her and then quickly found their way into her, causing her to lurch forward and lean almost all of her body weight onto his frame.

"I bought condoms…" he breathed into her ear, "but they're at my house."

"Suitcase," she panted. "There are some…in my suitcase."

Grissom released her and quickly grabbed her bag, hoisting it onto the bed. He began to unzipper compartments at random. "Where are they?" he asked hastily, his tone sharp.

On jellylike legs, Sara walked to him. "Under the clothes. At the bottom."

Without taking any care for the painstaking folding Sara had done to ensure her clothes would remain wrinkle-free, Grissom sifted through the mountain of fabric until he hit pay dirt. He ripped the box open and extracted a small, square packet. Sara took a seat on the bed in front of him, watching his body quake with his breaths. He looked…consumed. She saw her reflection in the mirror, red-faced and naked, and knew that they matched. Her hands were on his belt in a flash, unbuckling the black leather to reach the button underneath.

His hands gripped her wrists, stilling her movements. "Lay back, honey."

She did as he said, slowly lowering herself to the bedspread, vertebra by vertebra. Grissom slipped himself out of his pants and smoothed on the condom. He was on top of her a split-second later, pushing his way into her body. Sara encircled her legs around his waist, viselike, and held on for dear life as he started to move.

"Honey, honey, move back," he whispered, stilling his movements to pick her up slightly and push her back farther onto the bed. "There," he breathed as he resumed the quick, shallow thrusts of his hips.

He sweat. Sara had spent countless hours with Grissom under the punishing desert sun without him so much as breaking a sweat. He wore layer upon layer and it never seemed to affect him. But ten minutes on top of her had him leaking like a broken pipe. His face was tucked into her neck, and she could feel the sweat course off of his temple to pool at her collar. And through it all, all that Sara could think of was that it was finally happening. The man who had gone only so far as to hold her hand twice in five years was one with her, was losing himself in her, whispering shy compliments that contrasted sharply with the guttural grunts emanating from his throat.

She came first, squeezing him tight, holding him to her, hoping to draw out the precious sensation. Grissom soon followed, calling her name loudly.

"Don't sleep, honey," he said softly as she closed her eyes. "We have to go."

Eyes still closed, Sara nodded. "I know."

TBC…


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52

He left her on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Though the door was partially shut, she could hear the toilet flush, the water presumably washing away the condom they had used. Sara stared up at the ceiling, too tired to move. She heard the water run and knew Grissom was probably cleaning himself off and though she knew she needed a shower, she decided to wait until he was finished instead of walking in on him. They'd shared a bed, but they weren't ready to share a bathroom quite yet.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door creaked open and Grissom stepped out, looking unsure of what to do with himself. Sara sat up in bed. "What time is it?"

"Nine thirty," he told her without looking at his watch.

"We'd better get moving." She got up and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I'm just going to hop in the shower real quick. Three, four minutes tops."

"Yeah, I, uh…I've gotta go home and shower and change," he told her. She let her eyes drift over his rumpled frame. Grissom's clothes were stuck to his body with sweat.

"Gimme a few minutes and I'll be ready," Sara said, giving him a small, shy smile despite the circumstances. She moved to go passed him and into the bathroom before thinking twice and planting a kiss on his cheek. Once the door was closed, she let herself revel in the shock and excitement of what had just happened: They fucked! It was good and quick and ten years in the making. From their small kisses at her doorway, Sara had guessed that their first time together would be equally sweet. She suspected the road to consummation would be as long and arduous as the rest of their relationship.

But it wasn't. It was like lightening -- it just happened. It was hot and fast and unexpected. She expected her body to sizzle when the shower spray hit it. True to her word, Sara quickly cleaned off her sweat-drenched skin, careful to not get her hair wet as drying it would take more time than they had, and was out of the shower in minutes. She needed to get dressed and they had to drive to his place so he could shower and change before making their way to the airport to wait in line at various checkpoints and board the plane.

She found him zipping her suitcase closed when she exited the bathroom in her robe.

"I'm going to load this in the car," he told her. "I'll be waiting outside."

"I'll be right down," she said as she pulled off her robe and looked for underwear. Grissom stood at her doorway and watched her for a long, quiet moment before going downstairs.

Sara exhaled and got dressed quickly. She didn't want to dwell on his behavior, but found herself unable to think of anything else as she shut off the lights to her bedroom. He didn't seem like he was basking in any sort of afterglow.

He was waiting for her in his SUV, sunglasses perched on his nose. When they reached his townhouse, he unloaded her suitcase and they walked to his front door in silence. Once inside, Grissom placed the bag in the hallway and slipped his sunglasses off. "I'm going to take a shower and change. Make yourself comfortable."

Sara sat on his uncomfortable leather sofa and listened to the far-off sound of the shower. For some reason, she had thought that sex would solve their problems, that once they got that out of the way, the rest would be easy. Judging from his post-coital attitude, that wasn't the case. Grissom was still Grissom. She wondered if it had to do with his age. Though she was quite sure that the almost-fifty entomologist was the love of her life, Sara had never had a physical relationship with anyone near his age. The oldest man she'd ever been with, a high school English teacher in San Francisco, was thirty at the time of their relationship, several months before she left for Vegas. The rest -- a smattering of college boys at Harvard, a cop and a firefighter her first three years at the Bay Area Crime Lab, and Hank -- had all been under the age of thirty. Though no virgin, Sara was entering new territory with Grissom. _Was he self-conscious? _she wondered. _Was he worried about his libido?_ All of the men in theimpotence commercials seen rowing boats or riding bikes with their middle-aged wives looked to be around his age. None of it bothered her, but Sara had to wonder if it bothered him. She tried to envision herself approaching the half-century mark while starting up a relationship with someone fifteen years her junior. Sara pictured her body at fifty -- hips wider, skin looser, breasts moving south. She didn't think she'd look bad, just not what she was used to. Though Sara never feared aging and wasn't one who planned to fight it with Botox injections or surgery, the idea of presenting herself as a middle-aged object of desire to someone much younger made her feel…vulnerable. She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. Sex had always been something she wanted to share with Grissom, and she had wanted to share it without a second thought to exposing herself.

But Grissom…even without all of this other emotional hang-ups, must've felt apprehension on a purely superficial level. It wasn't vanity, she believed. Grissom wasn't a vain man. But he was an intensely private man, and Sara was beginning to realize his desire to keep from being exposed might just be literal as well as figurative. If that were the case, she was clueless to the remedy of it. Reassurance, Sara assumed, would go a long way. It probably wouldn't cure all of his insecurities. But it couldn't hurt.

She heard the hum of his hairdryer and sat up straight, anticipating his arrival. When Grissom exited the bathroom, fresh and clean, Sara smiled widely.

"I'll, uh…call the cab now."

"Sure thing," she said, keeping the smile plastered on her face.

When he put the phone down, Grissom stuck his hands in his pockets. "They'll be here in twenty minutes."

"Cool." She scooted over on the loveseat to make room for him, and he took his seat by her uneasily. Sara linked arms with him and turned her body to face his. "I'm glad you're coming with me."

Grissom looked a little unnerved at her easy candor. "I'm…glad I'm coming, too."

She leaned in and placed a kiss on his open mouth, taking his top lip in between her two. "This is going to be good," she said, her words breathed into his mouth.

"How can you be sure?"

Sara kissed him again, harder this time. For a moment, Grissom sat still, stunned as she explored his mouth with her tongue. It took him a while, but he became an avid partner, coaxing her leg across his lap until she was straddling his waist. His big hands kept circling her ass, massaging it lightly until, about five minutes into their make out session, Grissom trailed his right hand to her front and slipped it, palm side up, into her pants. Sara bucked forward as he cupped her, tearing her lips from his. He rubbed her in small circles, keeping his touch light, maddeningly light. She ran her hands up his arms and took hold of the fabric at his shoulders, squeezing it tight and lifting her chest up off of him so she could look into his eyes.

"Please," she whimpered. He pressed a little harder. Sara shook her head. "Please," she said again, a little louder.

Grissom gave her a small, dark smile. He stilled his fingers.

She gritted her teeth. "Sonofa--"

"Bitch?" he asked, eyes laughing as he chewed on his bottom lip. Before Sara could respond, he shoved two fingers inside her, wrenching a cry from her body. She clutched him tight, swiveling her hips in time with his hand.

Though he had smiled at her, she could tell from the heavy breaths quaking through his body that Grissom was aroused as well, but his recent release meant she'd be the only one to climax for a second time that morning. When he turned his head to sloppily kiss her ear, she was gone, moaning expletives into the crook of his neck. "The cab is going to be here soon," she said, her words muffled by his collar.

"It's fortunate that you came first," Grissom remarked, pulling sticky fingers out of her pants.

TBC…


	53. Chapter 53

A/N: First, I would like to thank everyone who has been reading this and who has sent me kind notes, nudging me forward. It helped, believe it or not. And, second, I have to thank Mr. E who gets a daily play-by-play of everything going on in my life and doesn't complain when I have a whine-fest/pity party. Which happens quite often. Anyway, kudos to Mr. E.

Chapter 53

Consummation is usually a milestone in any romantic relationship, so Sara was a bit surprised at how quickly she and Grissom reverted back to co-worker mode in the presence of other people. In the backseat of the cab, they sat at either end, a good ten inches separating them. As they stood in line to have their bags checked, the clerk wrongly assumed they weren't together and told Sara to wait her turn before Grissom quietly corrected him. He made no move to reassure her, though, as they entered the departure terminal and walked toward their gate. She didn't know what she was expecting, but business as usual wasn't it. Wasn't the sky supposed to open up? Weren't the birds supposed to sing? Didn't everyone at McCarran Airport _know_ that Gil Grissom just had sex with Sara Sidle? It wasn't just some ordinary day of the week. Mere hours ago, his tongue had been in her mouth, his thumb and forefinger had fiddled with one of her nipples while he moved inside her. And now? For all the world, they looked like cordial strangers at best.

When it was time to board the plane, Sara stood slightly behind Grissom and placed her hand on his back, casually inching it lower as they moved closer to the cockpit. He stilled almost instantly when her fingers ventured passed his waist. She wasn't overt; Sara just simply rested her hand on his ass and stared straight ahead. Grissom turned to look at her, bewildered. She smiled innocently and then nodded in the direction of the flight attendant who was a yard away, greeting passengers. Grissom took his seat silently and then awkwardly stood up, remembering to ask if she wanted the window seat. Sara assured him she was fine with the aisle and took her seat, a little annoyed. She didn't expect him to lavish her with attention, but she wanted some acknowledgement of their mutual coupledom on his part. Miffed, Sara kept her eyes on the seat in front of her during takeoff.

Once the seatbelt sign turned off, she heard the creak of the armrest and turned her head to watch Grissom lift the barrier between them before unbuckling his belt. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Are you gonna..." His hands gestured towards her belt and Sara blinked.

"Oh, right." She tugged at the metal buckle, cursing softly when her nail snagged in the fabric of the belt.

"Here, I'll help you," Grissom said quietly, undoing the buckle for her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"What's on the itinerary today?"

"The itinerary? Oh," she sighed, "meet and greet, cocktails, and general schmoozing starting at three o'clock. You want to come?"

"I think not," Grissom said, sitting back in his seat. "It's not that I don't want to spend time with you, Sara," he added quickly, lest she think he planned on avoiding her during their trip. "These meet and greets...I hate them. No one ever talks about science. And also..."

"Also, what?" Sara asked, turning her body towards him so her knees touched his left thigh.

"I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not an active CSI. Someone could..."

"See us together?"

"Yeah," he said guiltily. "Isn't that what we're trying to avoid?"

She shrugged. "I guess it is."

Their plane ride passed without fanfare. Though they sat closer to each other than they had in the cab on the way to the airport, Sara wasn't comforted by his attitude. Or lack of one, rather. Grissom was completely unreadable. When the flight attendant offered him a drink, he politely declined and continued to read the battered copy of "The Da Vinci Code" he found stuffed in the seat pocket in front of him. Sara was dying to reach out and touch him, to run a finger along his forearm or rest her hand on his leg – just to make sure it was all real. But she kept her hands carefully folded in her lap so as not to disturb him.

When they landed, the pair silently claimed their baggage. Grissom gripped both of their bags and nodded in the direction of the car rental lot. The long line had Sara fidgeting. "I'm going to be late."

He thrust the large shopping bag containing the boxes of LVPD Crime Lab brochures toward her. "Here. You take a taxi to the hotel. I'll rent a car and check in."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I can handle this," he said, looking at the rental lot. "Let's get you a taxi."

Before Sara could utter a word, Grissom had found her a cab and was giving the driver instructions and money. She exhaled loudly and opened the car door, tossing the brochures into the backseat. As she bent to step in, Sara felt a hand grip her elbow and hold her back. She turned to face Grissom, whose mouth was firmly set in a scowl. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I think I can handle myself," she said sarcastically.

"All right." He let go of her arm. "I'll see you in a little," he said, giving her a peck on the lips.

In public.

Sara blinked and then jumped in surprise as the cab driver beeped. "Okay."

"I love you."

"Uh..."

At the driver's second beep, Grissom frowned. "You'd better get in the car."

"Okay."

"I'll see you later, honey."

Sara accidentally knocked her head against the top of the car as she attempted to climb in.

"Are you okay?" Grissom asked, his voice high with worry. He was crouching next to her with his hand on the top of her head.

"Yes. Right. Fine."

"Are you dizzy?"

"No. I'm fine. Really. Just embarrassed," Sara assured him.

Grissom leaned his head back to look at her. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. No," she assured him, putting her hand on his knee. "Go get the car so you won't have to be stuck in the hotel while I'm at the conference. Go."

He kissed her cheek and stood up on the sidewalk. The cab driver muttered an annoyed, "Finally," as he put the car in drive.

Sara rested her head against the hot leather seat. She let out a laugh. "Finally is right."

TBC…


	54. Chapter 54

A/N: So, I had an awful job – awful. It was the kind of job where three people would quit in disgust and, instead of hiring new people, the bosses would heap all of the duties on me. I quit. After about a week of having to listen to The Laurie Berkner Band, I'm beginning to doubt my decision to leave. There are only so many times a person can hear "Victor Vito" and stay sane.

Chapter 54

Sara Sidle never had what she would call a happy Christmas. Each year she spent with her parents never culminated in gift-giving and the singing of carols. Once she was in the system, she would receive a small gift at the tax payers' expense to mark the holiday – nothing fancy: a generic Barbie doll, a board game. Sara would pass them on to another kid and return to her designated sleeping area to read "Little Women" or some other book she had on loan from the library. As she entered adulthood, Sara had been invited to several Christmas dinners by acquaintances, but always declined, feigning other plans. She never failed to volunteer to work the holiday and, to her secret delight, spent 2004's Christmas practically alone in the lab with Grissom. They ate Thai food in the breakroom and watched the news without saying a word.

Though unfamiliar with the traditional trappings that came with Christmas, if Sara had to put a name on the feeling she was experiencing as the cab pulled up to her hotel, she'd equate it to that of a child going to bed on Christmas Eve knowing there'd be a room full of presents waiting under the tree, if only she could make it through the night. Sara knew she would have to force herself through the next few hours in order to encounter the bliss brought to her by a bearded man of her own.

He loved her. What was more, he admitted that he loved her. If he had done so during sex, she would've quelled the glee bubbling up inside her and brushed it off. But they were fully clothed, completely sober, and there were witnesses.

If Sara had believed never hearing the words "I love you" from Gil Grissom was a scary thought, hearing them was even scarier. The fairytales in her head starring Grissom all ended with him professing his love – perhaps not at an airport terminal, but she wasn't about to nitpick. Her fantasies never went beyond the admission of love. She had no plans for happily ever after.

So far, happily ever after was a bumpy cab ride. When she reached the hotel, Sara took several deep breaths. She had to get through the next few hours without embarrassing herself so she could meet up with Grissom and begin another chapter in the fractured fairytale that was her life. According to the signs posted at the reception desk, the lecture was located in Ballroom A. Sara followed the directions and located her nametag on the small table outside of the room. She raised a brow at the "Sarah Sidel" written in bold letters on the laminated card. Grissom would no doubt get a kick out of it.

The ballroom buzzed with chatter. Sara grabbed a chair on the outskirts of the room near the exit. She didn't care if she got a good view of the guest lecturer – she didn't care if she heard a word he said. When it was time to leave, she wanted to be the first person out of there. The room quickly began to fill to brimming and, before she knew it, the lights dimmed and the lecture began.

Since becoming a mother, Sara hadn't kept up with the forensics journals like she used to. She perused them every night before bed, but her free time was no longer dedicated to work. Though the trip to Houston was definitely a way for her to have some time alone with Grissom to figure out their relationship, Sara didn't plan to tune out the lecture. As the speaker took the stage, she clapped politely and proceeded to absorb the information like a sponge. So much had changed for her in the past six months that the joy of the job, the pull of forensics, wasn't her top priority. It was nice return her focus to work, if only for the rest of the afternoon.

The topic of the first day was a presentation on the study of a waterlogged corpse – not too necessary for a CSI in the desert. Still, there were plenty of pools in Las Vegas to make the information useful. Data in the form of booklets was soon passed out to each table while the speaker took a break. Sara blinked as she adjusted to the newly brightened light and, for the first time, made eye contact with the criminalists at her table. Everyone proceeded to introduce themselves. Sara was last.

"I'm Sara Sidle. I'm from the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Oh, where's your famous entomologist?" the middle-aged woman to her right asked, smiling. "What's his name? Chisholm?"

"It's Grissom, right?" the man across from her exclaimed. "Gil Grissom?"

"Uh, yeah. Yep."

"Man, I used one of his books to construct a timeline using the larvae of maggots," one of the criminalists volunteered. "Worked like a charm. Is he here?"

Sara's eyes widened. "Uh…he's taking a break from the lab right now; he's working on a textbook."

"On entomology?" one of them asked.

She pressed her lips together. "General forensics."

Armed with about thirty-five business cards, Sara left the ballroom after the end of the lecture and reached for her cell phone as she made her way to the lobby.

Grissom answered his phone on the first ring. "Hi."

"Hey," she said warmly. "What room are we in?" It made her stomach flip to use the word "we."

"671."

"Are you hungry now?" she asked. Her nerves were getting to her, and could be heard in her voice. "Do you want to meet me down here and we could go out? Or do you want to eat upstairs?"

"I'd like to be alone with you."

"Oh. Okay. Good. Good. I will…see you in a few minutes," Sara said as she strode to the elevator. "Bye."

"Goodbye."

"Hey, Las Vegas!"

Sara felt a hand clap on her back. She turned around and saw the crowd of criminalists from her table. "Uh…hey."

"We're all going out to eat and get drunk. You up for it?"

"You know, I'll have to pass. I've got a major headache and alcohol is a no-no with my migraine medicine," she lied. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, though." Sara escaped into the elevator and sighed as she pressed the number six on the keypad. When she stepped through the double doors and followed the arrows to their room, she could feel her whole body come alive with anticipation. There was no plan for what was about to happen. Would they order room service and discuss his declaration of love? Would he expect sex right away? Would he give her a chance to put on the lingerie she brought with her, or would their second time be as frantic as their first?

665…667…669…

"671," she said under her breath. Sara rubbed her sweaty palms on her hips and knocked. Footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door. This was it.

The first thing she saw was his shirt. It was loud: a green and orange batik monstrosity. "Hey."

Sara blinked. "Hello. Hi."

Grissom stepped aside to let her into the small living area. "How was the lecture?"

She rolled her eyes and reached into her purse. "I had no idea how many groupies you had. When they found out I was from Las Vegas, they all wanted to know where you were."

His eye widened. "Did you tell them I'm here?"

"Of course not. I told them you were writing a textbook." She handed him the stack of business cards given to her at the conference. "They all want in."

Smirking, he tossed them in a nearby wastebasket. "No thanks."

She took a deep breath and could feel herself beginning to relax. "Did you get to work on your book at all this afternoon? Or did you just hang out and watch pay-per-view porn?" Her attempt to be playful was received as such, and he arched a brow at her. Sara crossed over to him and place a hand on his forearm. It was warm.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "I…I was checking out the sunset on the balcony. Our room is facing west, so we have a great view. It's beautiful."

Sara walked through the open door to the bedroom, her stomach tightening as the bed they planned to share came into view. She kept walking until she reached the sliding door. The sun had just gone down, and the sky was a fading symphony of colors over the city of Houston. "It's a nice night," she said as she stepped into the fresh air. "Warm."

"Yes," he said, coming up behind her, careful not to touch.

She slipped off her suit jacket and put it on a patio chair. Her eyes wandered to the matching table where a straw hat rested on the surface. Brows raised, she tilted her head and examined it. "What…is that?"

Grissom skirted around her body towards the patio table. "You like it? I saw it in the gift shop." To Sara's horror, he slipped it on his head. "Cool, huh?"

"Sure. Yes." He turned his gaze to the sky. She did the same and sighed. "There's so much out there." The universe looked limitless, full of wonder and possibilities. It was hard for Sara to believe she was looking at the same sky that had seemed so heavy over her head years earlier. It was even harder to believe that Grissom ceased looking upward and was now focusing intently on her. He reached out a hand and tentatively placed in on her back, letting it slip down to her waist as she inched closer to his side. Their bodies came into contact, grazing each other lightly. It shouldn't have made her pulse race, but it did. Her arm snaked around his back and she rested a hand between his shoulder blades. "You wanna get something to eat?"

"Sure."

Sara picked at her food. She had snacked on appetizers at the lecture and wasn't all that into her meal. Grissom concentrated on his food and they made small talk about the subject of her seminar. Though she managed to keep up with the conversation, Sara's mind was on exactly what was going to happen after they finished their meal. It had been ages since she had been on a date, and she knew she was rusty when it came to elegantly moving from dinner to bed, especially in the early stages of a relationship before routine eased any anxiety. There were a million things to consider, the first being if sex was something Grissom even wanted. They had been intimate earlier in the day and had spent a good deal of time traveling. It was possible he wasn't up for it, literally and figuratively. Sara felt she could deal with whatever he dished out, so long as she was prepared for it. She didn't want to pounce on him only to have him embarrassingly explain he was done for the day, nor did she want to feign sleepiness, leaving him wondering if she wasn't all that interested in him.

Procrastination was usually the choice of the undecided, so Sara peeled the napkin from her lap and stood up. Grissom's eyes widened, but she gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I promised Brenda I'd give her a call before she went to bed."

"Oh. Ah."

She smoothed out her slacks and, because she could, leaned over and gave him a kiss on his closed mouth. Once she located her phone, Sara quickly called home. The babysitter answered and, after pleasantries, put Brenda on the phone.

"How was school?"

"Okay."

"Anything interesting happen?"

"No. Oh, wait -- someone threw up in the computer room. A little of it landed on my book bag."

Sara arched a brow. _Time to get a new book bag_, she thought. They chatted about Norah's upcoming Halloween party and bid each other goodnight.

"I love you, B. I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Love you, too. 'Night."

She closed her phone and turned at the sounds of Grissom wheeling the cart carrying their dirty dishes out into the hallway. He closed the door and exhaled loudly. "So…" He checked his watch. "It's 8:26. _Jeopardy_ is over."

"Right," she said, cracking a small smile. "And any other night, we'd be saying goodnight pretty soon."

He took a few steps forward and closed the gap between them. They were just about the same height, but the scant inches difference seemed like several feet as she gazed up into his eyes. She could feel his breath on her face. Grissom blinked slowly. "Goodnight," he whispered, and then leaned in to brush his lips against hers. He pulled back and gave her a ghost of a smile before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her again. It was dissimilar to the fervor of their kisses in the morning. This kiss was calculated, as if he was going through inventory of her mouth, checking off everything he found with his lips and tongue on some mental list. While his left hand stayed firm near her jaw, Grissom's right hand moved to hold the back of Sara's neck to keep her close. Her hands found their way to his sides and she fit her body up against his, like pieces of one of the jigsaw puzzles she and Brenda worked on.

He was ready for bed, but not sleep.

New lingerie was sitting in her suitcase along with a toothbrush that would help get rid of the aftertaste of garlic that was lingering in both of their mouths, but Sara wasn't about to endanger their momentum. Grissom somehow walked her backwards into the darkened bedroom without breaking the kiss. He managed to remove most of her clothes as they stood by the bed. Sara turned down the covers and sat so she could work off her underwear and slip off her socks. She cleared her throat and reached for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it on and bathing the room in a forty Watt glow. His movements seemed to still, and Sara realized she had perhaps made a misstep. There was no way to backtrack, so she went full steam ahead, making sure to vocalize her appreciation lest he feel undesirable. She undid the buttons of his horrible shirt, letting it hang open slightly, revealing a sliver of flesh from his neck to his navel. Rising up on her knees, Sara began to kiss her way down to his belt. She unbuckled it, and got to work on the button and fly underneath, loosening his pants but not taking them off, wanting to let him control his own nudity until he was completely comfortable with her.

Horizontal Grissom was a lot less shy than Vertical Grissom. Once they both hit the mattress, the pace picked up. She got to touch him -- really touch him. Sex earlier that morning amounted to Sara holding on for dear life. She had little time to explore. But now…now she could touch his shoulder, his back, all the skin that had remained hidden under clothes for the whole of their acquaintance. She ran her fingers through his hair as he balanced on top of her for a long kiss, and when he pulled back, she let out a laugh at the sight of his hair pointing every which way as a result of her caresses.

Whatever tension was in the room eased and their lovemaking became less about the rush for release and more a quest for closeness.

Their hearts were beating wildly in their chests, a sheen of sweat coated their skin, and yet Sara felt completely at peace.

When she could feel herself slipping into slumber, Grissom turned off the light and cradled her against his side, holding her to him. He said nothing, just kissed the hand he held and she smiled against his shoulder, happy.

Ten minutes, an hour, or two hours later, panic seized Sara and she bolted upright, breathing heavily. "Grissom," she whispered. She leaned closer. "Grissom." No answer. "Gil!"

"Wuh? What? What?" he asked, propping himself up on an elbow. "Sara, what is it?" He turned on the lamp and then squinted at her as his eyes adjusted to the light.

"I love you."

"What?"

"I…forgot to tell you that."

Grissom blinked. "Oh. Thank you."

"Your welcome." Sara settled back in bed and, after about a minute, he turned off the light and joined her.

"I love you, too."

"So I heard."

TBC…


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Sara opened her eyes to the sight of Grissom for the first time. More than their first kiss, more than their first time making love or the subsequent I love yous that followed, this milestone gripped her heart the hardest. His right arm was wedged underneath her head while the other hung off the side of the bed. She studied his profile, amazed at the fact that she could feasibly touch just about any part of his body without overstepping the boundaries he had once carefully set up. If she wanted to trace the outline of his beard, she could. If she wanted to place a kiss smack-dab in the middle of his belly, she could. He wouldn't shy away. He'd kiss her back.

He'd love her back.

The moment Sara realized she was getting choked up, she bolted for the bathroom, her salty tears mixing in with the hot spray from the showerhead. It was silly to cry, but she couldn't help it. Eight hours. They spent eight hours together in sleep, skin to skin. It would've been nothing special for other couples, but they weren't other couples. Every step forward, no matter how tiny, was precious.

After squeezing all of the excess moisture from her hair, she wrapped herself in a towel and brushed her teeth. Her lecture was scheduled to begin in a couple of hours and last the remainder of the day, leaving the night open for other pursuits. She left the bathroom as quietly as possible, doing her best not to wake him, and headed for her luggage. Sara dug through her things for underwear, tossing various garments on the foot of the bed in search of a bra.

"Hey."

She jumped, turning quickly to find Grissom leaning up on his elbows in bed, watching her with half-lidded eyes. "Good morning," Sara smiled.

"Morning," he said, sinking back down in bed. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"What time do you have to go to your lecture?"

She located matching underwear and sighed. "Ten. It ends at around four thirty."

"Mmm," he moaned, turning over and burying his face in his pillow. "Come back to bed."

Underwear crumpled in hand, Sara made her way over to the edge of the bed in her constrictive terrycloth tube. She sat down and ran an index finger along his upper arm. "You really aren't a morning person."

Grissom turned his face towards her, squinting. "I like that you're here."

Still wrapped in the towel, she stretched out alongside him, her damp hair wetting the pillowcase. His hand moved to settle on her waist. "Thanks for sticking with me." She furrowed her brow and his hand started to slowly massage her hip as he clarified. "You hung in there...and I know it wasn't easy. I didn't exactly make things easy. I'm so sorry..."

She shook her head quickly, interrupting him. "That's not...that doesn't matter. It was...you were..." She sat up in bed, taking a breath to clear her head. "I loved you. I loved you for so long. And even if -- even if this never happened," she said, sweeping her hand over the bed, "I'd be grateful. I had that love for so long. I didn't think I could ever feel those feelings -- I didn't think those feelings even existed."

He sat up slowly, and for a moment she worried that she cast a heavy cloud over what was supposed to be a light vacation. Grissom said nothing. Goosebumps rose on her skin as he hooked a finger into the towel wrapped around her, dipping it down so it nestled in her cleavage before sliding over to her armpit where the corner of the makeshift wrap was tucked. He peeled the towel from her, wordlessly guiding her body back down to the bed. Starting at her collarbone, he worked his way south, going over just about every square inch of exposed skin with lips and tongue and teeth. She felt more than loved, she felt...worshipped. He took his time, building the excitement up until her fingers tore at the sheets and her moans became desperate pleas. She whispered a small "Thank you" as she came back down from her release, dreamily staring at the ceiling and waiting for him to move back up her body so they could continue.

"Gil?" Sara lifted her heavy head up and saw nothing but the hotel armoire framed between the V-shape of her thighs. She heard the water run in the bathroom and got up quickly to follow the sound.

Grissom was brushing his teeth. Had she not been a bit concerned, she would've been charmed by the sight of her naked boyfriend with a mouth full of foamy toothpaste. She raised a brow at him through the mirror. "I, uh...morning breath. It was pretty bad," he explained, doing his best to not make a mess.

She just smiled, placing a hand on his arm to turn him around slowly to face her. He watched in amazement as she slid to her knees and went down on him. She could hear him gurgle and sputter in shock, and Sara knew he was close when his toothbrush fell out of his mouth and hit her upper back before clattering on the tile floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sara, I'm...I'm..."

He was a goner. She finished quickly, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand before standing up to smile at him. Placing her lips on his sternum, she held onto his waist and smiled into his skin. "Take a shower and then we'll go get some breakfast."

Sara was sorely tempted to play hooky. They giggled their way through breakfast at a greasy truck stop diner, a place where they knew none of the other visiting forensics specialists would be patrons. "How's the book?"

"It's coming along. I think the hardest part is not assuming that a lot of what I know is a given for the kids reading the book. I haven't worked with a real rookie in years – Holly Gribbs," he said quietly, fidgeting in his seat. "She was the last rookie I worked with."

"What about Greg?"

"Greg was in the lab for years. He knew a lot of the ins and the outs of being a CSI, for the most part," Grissom explained. "I had to get back in the teaching mentality for this book, back into the habit of explaining things from scratch. Brenda actually helped me with this."

Sara's eyes widened. "Brenda?"

Grissom nodded before taking a sip of his coffee. "When she asks me a question about something, I've got to start from the beginning. If she wants to know about something that happened during the Middle Ages, I have to tell her what the Middle Ages is first. She put me in the mentality of a teacher again."

Their discussion moved in the direction of Brenda, and Sara found herself shocked that her daughter continued to be the topic of conversation at her lecture back at the hotel. The forensics supply companies had set up booths at various stations in the ballroom and, armed with cocktails, America's CSIs wandered the room and made small talk as they eyed state-of-the-art fingerprint brushes complete with designer powder. Sara sipped her ginger ale as she walked by the table of brochures. Her LVPD Crime Lab ones had all been snapped up, and the buzz they generated would probably be enough to satisfy Ecklie. She knew he had wanted her to schmooze her fellow criminalists, but she had no plans to do body shots off of Kevin, the sweaty, pale toxicologist from Maine who had suggested they ditch the upcoming lecture and go up to his hotel room.

"Come on, Las Vegas," he said. "Put down the soda and let's go upstairs. We'll get the tequila from the mini-fridge and have a party for two."

Sara had moved to Vegas when she was twenty-nine, and during her time in Sin City, she had been hit on more times than she could count by drunk tourists and sleazy men on business trips, and during that time she had come up with a fool-proof way to make a man's dick turn cold.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I'm pregnant."

Kevin sputtered and stuttered an excuse, begging his leave.

"Nice job."

Sara turned and saw a few women in their forties standing ten or so feet away. She smiled. "He certainly was a catch."

They struck up a conversation that she found herself repeating to Grissom as they shared a plate of vegetable potstickers at one of Houston's newest Asian restaurants. "It was like -- you know how when you're working a case and there's a child involved, at some point the parents ask, 'Do you have any kids?'" He nodded. "And then…you say no and there's like this disconnect. Even though they don't say it, there's something about their actions that scream, 'Well, you couldn't possibly know how I feel.' So we're all standing there with our drinks and then they start talking about their kids and one of them turns to me and asks me if I have kids."

"And?"

"And I said yes."

"And?"

"And I didn't feel like a fraud," she told him, exhaling loudly. "I'm always so nervous when it comes to talking about Brenda. No one at work knows except for Brass, and he only knows by accident. It was just so…weird. I feel like I'm part of a club now. They just accepted the fact that I had a kid and we all commiserated about how hard parenting is, how kids grow up so fast today and are so technologically savvy. Just like that. I'm a mom to these people. These strangers."

Grissom put down his fork. "I see you as a mom," he said thoughtfully.

"No, you don't," she laughed. "It's not the same. I've known you for so long as, well…me."

"You are a mom now, so I see you as one," he countered.

She played with the paper napkin in front of her, keeping her eyes on her fingers as they attempted to construct some origami-like figure. "That wasn't always the case. When I told you about the adoption, you…well, was your reaction a response to the adoption itself or was it…"

"I was losing you," he said quickly, his voice low. "I panicked." Leaning in closer, Grissom reached across the small table and circled her wrists with his hands. "My reaction had nothing to do with you as a mother or Brenda. It was all…fear. A lot of my past actions, when it comes to you, have been rooted in fear. And I am sorry for that. You have no idea how sorry I am."

Sara kept her face carefully blank. She hurt for him, and for herself. His fear had tortured them both for so many years. "Love terrifies me. But it doesn't paralyze me," she added, looking back down at their hands. A waiter whisked by their table and Sara pulled back, breaking contact. "We should talk about this back at the hotel."

No sooner did they enter their suite than Grissom began to broach the subject of their relationship. "I feel like I should apologize."

"You did already. I don't need apologies," she sighed, dropping her purse on a nearby side table. She wasn't mad at all, just confused. Their day began in bliss, but it didn't last.

"What do you need?"

She sat down on the couch and motioned for him to join her. He tentatively took a seat. Sara reached for his hand, cradling it in her own before bringing it to her lips. "I need you to not let the fear that held you back hold you back any longer. And I think you're doing a good job of that right now," she added, leaning her head back. "Otherwise, you would've stayed in Vegas."

Grissom pursed his lips. "I almost didn't come," he confessed.

"But you did."

He watched her play with his fingers and whispered, "I'm really trying, Sara."

"It shows," she smiled. After several minutes of silence, she could feel herself slipping back into bliss. She got up off of the couch, and when he moved to follow her, held him still with two hands on his shoulders. "It is now…" she glanced back over her shoulders at the clock on the wall," nine fifty-four. At ten sharp I want you to come into the bedroom."

Sara smiled to herself as she sauntered to their room. She finally had a chance to wear her lingerie.

TBC…


	56. Chapter 56

A/N: Happy New Year.

Chapter 56 

Their plane touched down a one forty-five in the afternoon. Sara feared Grissom would quickly withdraw now that they were on home turf, but as they fetched their luggage at the baggage carousel, he didn't shy away. His arm wrapped loosely around her waist, they watched black suitcase after black suitcase pass them by. "I wonder if they lost ours," he murmured.

"I see yours – wait, nope. Not it," she sighed.

"I'm buying us hot pink luggage for our next trip. Neon pink."

She would have laughed at the thought of Grissom toting a pink carryon bag, but the mention of a future trip had her pulse racing. It struck Sara that, no matter how close they got, how intimate they were, she wasn't truly used to it yet.

They collected their bags in silence and then waited in line for a cab. "How about we drop you off first?" he said, turning to face her.

Sara felt her stomach drop. This was it, the other shoe was dropping. "You don't want to come over?"

"You haven't spent time with Brenda these past couple of days." When she narrowed her eyes at him, he pressed, reassuring her that he'd be over the next day, ready to work on Brenda's science project.

As the cab pulled up to her house, Grissom insisted on helping her with her bags. "You're a really good boyfriend, you know that?"

His mouth twisted into a small smile as his eyes avoided hers. They kissed and hugged each other goodbye and Sara dreamily watched him get back into the cab and drive off. _Is it bad that I miss him already? _she thought to herself. Chuckling a bit, she rolled her suitcase over the threshold and into the laundry room, removing the souvenirs she had purchased for Brenda: a T-shirt, some pens shaped like rockets, and some "genuine" moon rocks. It surprised her how much she ached to see her daughter. Sara wiped away a tear with the back of her hand as she leaned against the washing machine. There was so much...love in her life. Two people. She had two amazing people who she loved. A small part of her heart hurt that one love had to be kept secret from the other, that she could not put her arms around both her lover and her daughter as they watched television after dinner or kiss Gil goodbye in front of Brenda. _All in good time_, she smiled to herself as she turned on the washing machine. All in good time.

When Brenda's school bus pulled up in front of their home, Sara was waiting in the front yard.

"Mom!"

It was the best word in the world. Sara squeezed Brenda tight, lifting her up, backpack and all. "How was school?"

"Good! How was Houston? Did you have fun? Did they give you food on the plane?"

"Good, yes, and peanuts," Sara laughed. "But I missed you. Come on, let's go inside. I got you a couple of things."

Homework was completed, pizza was ordered, and mother and daughter relaxed in front of the television. "We totally forgot to watch Jeopardy," Brenda yawned as the credits rolled.

Sara blinked and stretched. "I guess we did."

"Probably because Gil isn't here."

Sara stiffened. "Do...you...like it when Gil's here?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah, he's fun. He knows everything," Brenda sighed, her head lolling back against the couch. "He's probably the smartest man in the world. He should so go on Jeopardy…"

The little girl told him such the next night. "Seriously, you're smart," she said, as if he didn't know. Grissom blushed adorably, and changed the subject.

"Are you ready for Halloween?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to be?"

"Harry Potter," Brenda answered simply.

"Are your friends going to be Ron and Hermione?" he asked. Sara arched a brow at Grissom and he shrugged. "Brenda lent me her books."

"Norah and Martin are gonna be Harry Potter."

Grissom furrowed his brows, cocking his head to the side as he watched the little girl lick ice cream off of her spoon. "But I thought you were going to be Harry Potter."

"Uh-huh."

"So...the three of you are going as Harry Potter."

"Uh-huh."

"Together."

"Right," she said, scooting off of her seat to get a glass of milk.

He smiled at that. Sara watched him smile to himself as he kept his gaze on her daughter who worked on her second serving of butter pecan ice cream. Their routine drifted back into normalcy with Grissom over every night for homework and dinner, followed by either a board game or television. Weekends were spent at the movies or wandering around one of the many oddball museums in the Vegas area that Grissom had intimate knowledge of. It was a while before the two adults figured out how to fit sex into the schedule. Almost all of their time together was spent with Brenda, and though her bedtime was before Grissom left for home in the evenings, neither he nor Sara was eager for physical intimacy with a child sleeping down the hall. Two weeks passed since their trip to Houston, and they were getting antsy.

It was a run-of-the-mill Thursday. Sara picked Brenda up from ballet and drove home on autopilot. The dayshift had spent the better part of a week searching for two missing grad students with Sara leading the charge. She was beat. Every clue they tracked down lead to a dead end and the public was desperate for answers she couldn't give. As they parked, Sara reached for her cell phone. "Grissom? It's Sara."

"What's up?"

"Can you pick up some takeout? I'm beat. I can't cook."

"Sure, honey. But…what's wrong? Are you sick?" She could hear the concern in his voice.

"I'm fine. Just tired. Long day."

He cleared his throat. "Alright. What do you guys want?"

She turned to the backseat. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Mexican!"

"Mexican," Sara said into the receiver.

"I heard. The usual?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Okay. Bye, honey."

"Bye, Grissom." Sara snapped her cell phone closed and she and Brenda exited the car, dragging Brenda's book bag and duffel into the house.

"Mom?"

Tossing the keys on a nearby side table, Sara raised her brows. "Yes?"

"Why do you call Gil 'Grissom'?"

"I…don't know. I always have. Lots of people call him Grissom."

"I call him Gil."

"Yes, you do."

Brenda tilted her head to the side. "Should I start calling him Grissom like you do?"

"Uh…no. No, I don't think so. I think you should stick to Gil," Sara said, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

It wasn't. "Does he ever call you Sidle?"

She had to laugh. "No, he doesn't. Now start your homework. _Gil _will be here with the food in a little while."

Three-quarters of the way through Brenda's homework, Grissom showed up toting their favorite Mexican fare. As Sara moved to take a bag from his hands and help serve the food, he shooed her to a chair to relax. "I've got things under control. Go rest." As if he knew that wasn't enough to make her do his bidding, he added, "You look awful," and grinned widely. She rolled her eyes and got comfortable at the breakfast bar while she watched her boyfriend help Brenda clear her books off of the dining room table so they had room to put out plates, napkins, and utensils. While any other day the ease with which her two favorite people worked together would have sent her into absolute bliss, Sara's thoughts that evening were altogether more…primal. It had been exactly sixteen days since they left Houston, sixteen days since they had…

Grissom bent down to position a drinking cup at a place setting and Sara clenched her jaw. His butt. She wanted some quality time with it. Sweat began to prickle her brow as she watched him move around the table, easily chatting with Brenda while she set flatware on the napkins he folded. He looked so damned adorable -- practically edible -- as he performed such perfunctory domestic tasks.

She wanted him.

This wasn't the deep-seated longing that had plagued her for close to a decade. These new feelings were much more base. Sara didn't want Grissom to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. She didn't want him to kiss her softly or caress her gently. Oh, no. She wanted…

"Hello?"

Sara blinked. "What?"

"I've been calling your name," Grissom said, smiling quizzically. "Could you get a serving spoon for the guacamole?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah." She slid off of her chair and walked to the utensil drawer.

"You really are beat."

Sara jumped, startled the low tone of his voice as it vibrated behind her. She turned, spoon in hand, and noticed the worried look in his eyes. "Why don't you go upstairs and lie down?" he suggested.

"I'm not tired," she told him, her face flushing as he cornered her. "I'm…uh," she cleared her throat. "Gil. We need to…put some time aside for us to, you know…be together." Her gaze held his so there was no mistaking the sentiment. She lowered her voice so it wouldn't carry over into the dining room where Brenda was finishing the table. "I need you. Really badly."

Grissom's pupils dilated to twice their normal size, but he said nothing. Sara gave his arm a squeeze. "Come on, let's go eat."

TBC…


	57. Chapter 57

Chapter 57

Sara quietly closed the door to Brenda's bedroom after tucking the girl in, and then walked down the stairs. Her sweaty hands slipped on the banister, so she quickly wiped them dry on her jeans. Grissom was in the family room where she had left him. The two hadn't spoken more than a few words to each other after Sara's hasty admission in the kitchen. Brenda led the conversation at dinner and both adults kept their attention on her as the evening grew later.

He was sitting in the middle of the couch, staring at the blank television screen in front of him.

"Hey," she said softly, taking a seat next to him.

Grissom adjusted his body to make more room for her, eyeing her from under his lids. "Hey."

Sara purse her lips. "I'm sorry I…sprung that on you earlier in the kitchen."

"You can't say things like that to me when Brenda is in the other room," he told her quickly.

"I know," she whispered, placing her palm in between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry. It was just…I'm going crazy." As if her hand had a mind of its own, it slid around to his shoulder and pulled him a tiny bit closer to her. She studied his profile -- his clenched jaw, his determined countenance -- and soon his skin seemed to call out to her. She moved in to place a kiss on the side of his neck. Sara groaned softly and worked her way up to his jaw, licking the soft flesh and feeling him tense.

"Sara, stop," Grissom said firmly, taking a hold of both her hands, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling as a clear reminder of just who could drop in on them at any moment.

She blinked at him. She had been ready to screw Grissom on the couch -- the very couch they sat on with Brenda when they watched Jeopardy, in the very room they spent hours playing board games, in the very house where the little girl was sleeping at that very moment. Right above their heads. Sara went limp. "Oh, God." She sat back on the couch and rubbed her right temple roughly. Her life was split in two: she was a mother, and she was a lover, and unfortunately it didn't look like the halves were going to merge any time in the near future. Motherhood was the priority, but the neglected lover in her had taken over in an instant, and Sara almost lost her head. "We need to figure something out," she began, and then felt a hitch in her stomach. "You do want this…relationship to continue, right?"

"Yes," he said, his voice low but emphatic.

"Then why am I the only one who's pulling their hair out?" she huffed.

Grissom's nostrils flared momentarily. "Ten years of control around you, Sara, in some capacity or another. I've had practice." He placed his hand on the back of her head and ran his fingers down the strands of hair, sending a prickly sensation down her spine. "Can you take off tomorrow?"

"No," she moaned, putting her face I her hands tiredly. "I've got that case -- the two missing grad students. I'm the lead."

"What about the weekend?" he asked, leaning towards her. "Is Brenda going over one of her friends' houses or having a sleepover?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "She's having a sleepover , all right. Here. Norah's parents are going to San Diego for some wedding. Norah is staying here from Friday afternoon until Sunday. We have a full house."

He sighed and leaned back on the couch. "Sara, the way I see it -- I get to do this," he exhaled, putting an arm around his pouting girlfriend. "And it might not seem like it to you, but it's enough right now, because I remember vividly what it's like not to be able to do this, and to want to so badly." She turned her head into his shoulder as he continued, "This whole…single motherhood -- and motherhood, too, actually -- is new to you. And this relationship is even newer. For both of us. Balancing everything is going to take time."

"You make such sense," she chuckled, giving him a little punch in the arm as she leaned on him, relishing in his warmth.

"Yes, dear."

They sat for hours, staring at the blank TV screen and saying nothing. Just breathing. Just being. The silence was broken at two AM by the trill of Sara's cell phone. She got up to get it, mumbling "Work" as she looked at the Caller ID.

"Sidle," she answered, sighing and half-hoping Las Vegas had declared a holiday for all of the city employees, magically giving her the day off so she could spend all of Friday in bed with her boyfriend.

"Your two missing grad students have been found dead in the desert," Ecklie said over the line. His voice was clipped, stressed.

"I'm guessing they didn't die of thirst or you wouldn't be calling me at this hour."

"They were executed. Two bullets in the head each. Gimme a second, I'll give you the directions," Ecklie told her.

Sara raised her brows. The case was too big to pass off to whoever Brass could spare on the nightshift. The two students' faces had been splashed about on the news since they had gone missing under suspicious circumstances. She needed to be there. Ecklie gave her the directions and what was known so far about the crime scene before he bid her a tired goodbye. She barely heard him as her gaze met Grissom's. When she hung up the phone, he gave her a commiserating look.

"Your case just got a lot easier and a lot harder at the same time, didn't it?"

"They found the bodies," she told him, sinking back into her seat next to him. "I, uh, have to go…"

"I'll stay here with Brenda," he said, giving her knee a squeeze. She placed her hand on his and thanked him before getting up to change for work. It had been so long since she had pulled an all-nighter, and Sara wasn't sure her body was as adept at functioning on no sleep as it used to be.

She wrote a small note for Brenda explaining the situation and put it on her nightstand next to the girl's tried and true copy of "Little Women." Sara let her hand wander through her little girl's hair for a moment, smiling at the sight. Brenda was so peaceful. So absolutely and positively content, it nearly boggled the mind to realize how far she had come since she first started her treasured book.

Grissom was waiting for Sara at the bottom of the stairs.

"The bus comes to pick her up at 7:30. Um…if you could make her a sandwich for lunch -- all the stuff is in the fridge."

"Sure, no problem."

"And make sure her book bag isn't too heavy. She sometimes packs textbooks she doesn't need in there," Sara added as she walked towards the door.

Grissom nodded. "Sara, go. Your crime scene awaits. I've got everything under control."

"Are you sure you're okay with everything?"

"Yes," he told her, handing her the keys to her car as they walked to the driveway.

"Thank you, Gil," Sara said, placing a kiss on his cheek.

He opened the car door for her. "You're very welcome."

She got seated and started her SUV, rolling down the window before pulling out. "If I'm not back by the time the girls get home, order pizza or something. I promised I'd take them to the mall so they could do this thing -- something about stuffed animals -- anyway, if I'm not back by then, tell them we'll go another time, okay?"

"Sara?" Grissom said, eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"Go, sweetheart," he chuckled. "We'll see you later."

Much later. The media circus surrounding the two missing students had the case rocketing to the top of the crime lab's pile. Sara manned the operation into Friday evening when Brass came in early to pitch in.

"Sara, why don't you take a break?" he suggested as his eyes searched the photos of the crime scene in the layout room. "You don't look like you've slept."

"I haven't. I just want to finish this case. But…I could use five minutes to call home," she sighed.

The older man smiled at her. "Take ten."

He left the room and Sara reached into her pocket for her cell phone, dialing Grissom's number quickly.

"Sara," he answered, sounding breathless.

"How are things? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes," he assured her. "We just got back from the mall about fifteen minutes ago."

Stunned, Sara leaned against the layout table for support. "You took two ten-year-old girls to the mall? By yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Did Brenda make you go? She should've been patient and waited. I'm going to have to talk to her about this when I get home."

"Would you relax? The kids were fine. I didn't see any reason to change their plans. They were looking forward to the mall. It was weird, though."

Sara was immediately nervous. "Weird how?"

"Just…the store they wanted to go too. It was like some kind of pre-school taxidermy workshop. Stuffed animal carcasses everywhere, big machines used to pump fluff into them, and then the outfits. I had a teddy bear when I was little. He wore a bow tie, and I thought that was weird. Brenda's bear is dressed up as the Statue of Liberty. It has a torch. The torch lights up, Sara."

She had to laugh at his apparent amazement. "So everything's okay?"

"Yeah, they've got their bears. We got pizza on the way home and they're eating it in the family room now and watching one of the Harry Potter movies. How's your case?" he asked, changing the subject.

"The Sheriff is pushing to have someone -- _anyone _-- taken into custody so it looks like there's no one out there terrorizing the city."

"Typical," Grissom muttered under his breath. "Do you have any legitimate leads or suspects?"

"Some," she sighed. "Nothing concrete. We're just waiting on the DNA evidence right now. I don't think the Sheriff quite understands that it's not something we can rush. I'm going to be home soon, babe, because there's not much more I can do here until the police are done tracking down some leads and I have the DNA results in my hand."

"Good. You sound like you need some sleep," he said.

"That's because I do," she laughed. "I think I might be too old to work triple shifts."

They chatted a bit more before Grissom put Brenda on the phone for a few minutes. The girl was bursting with excitement over her new toy and eager to show it to her mother. "I'll be there soon, baby," Sara assured her.

She hung up the phone a minute later and Brass came in, smirking. "So how're things on the home front?"

"Good," Sara nodded.

"And who, may I ask, is staying home with your daughter?" The glare he received was all the confirmation Brass needed. "My, my, my."

Though she tried valiantly, Sara couldn't be mad. "Drop it," she said without an ounce of venom.

"Is he happy, Sara?"

"Yeah…" she said, pausing to think of a bewildered Grissom amongst children and elaborately costumed stuffed animals. "I think he is."

TBC…


	58. Chapter 58

A/N: It's wee, but I had to wet my feet and get back into this story. There are a few things I had forgotten about the chronology and setting of this fic, so I thought that I should just refresh everyone's memory, because I've been getting questions about this. This fic began around the time of "Committed." Catherine, Nick, and Warrick were on the Swing Shift. In this fic, Sara is second-in-command for the Day Shift, while Grissom left the lab to work on a textbook. Brass is heading up the Night Shift. It's November 2005 in the fic as of this chapter. (Time flies, I know.)

A/N #2: Big thanks to GreenCat!

Chapter 58 

It was all a blur. At some point, early into Sara's shift on Tuesday, she cracked the case of the two murdered grad students, relayed the information to Detective Vega and the Assistant District Attorney, informed Dr. Woo that she was taking some time off, and booked it for Grissom's townhouse.

"Sara, what are you--"

He didn't have a chance to finish. Over two weeks of forced celibacy was ended in five minutes of pure bliss. Half-dressed, sweaty, and bewildered, Grissom turned to Sara and watched her while she stared up at his bedroom ceiling, a smile plastered on her face.

"Why aren't you at work?"

"Case was solved," she said, sighing and stretching before sitting up to remove her shirt and bra. Sara settled back down beside Grissom and finally realized that she was in his bedroom, in his bed. She used to wonder what it looked like. She recalled the first time she set foot in his townhouse during the Strip Strangler case. Sitting in his small dining area with the rest of the team, Sara had wondered where the elusive Grissom slept, had considered asking to use his bathroom and pretending to "stumble" into his bedroom. Of course she ran out of nerve, but it didn't stop her from wondering. "So this is where you go home to every night?"

"Yeah. But I usually bring a hooker with me."

"Hey!" she laughed, looking up to see his face-splitting grin.

"Just kidding, just kidding," he said softly, turning to press his front to her naked chest so he could wrap his arms around her body. "I used to have this dream," Grissom began, but then his voice drifted off as he bit his lip.

"Did it involve me in a costume of some sort?" Sara asked with humor in her eyes.

"No," he cried in earnest, despite his droopy lids. The poor man was exhausted after his orgasm and it showed. "No. It was...you were here, in this bed, and you were stealing all the covers."

"And?"

"And that's it."

Sara let out a chuckle. "Your big, sexy dream is me stealing the covers?"

"Yeah. But you were on the other side of the bed," he explained. "You were always on this side," he told her, gesturing to the spot he currently occupied. "Isn't that funny?"

"One night in Houston and our sides are chosen."

"Yeah," Grissom yawned. "I guess I'm stuck on this side forever."

Brows raised, Sara watched as he fluffed his pillow and closed his eyes. "Do you mind if I take a nap? I'm so tired."

"No. No, of course not. Rest, Gil," she said softly, watching as he got comfortable on the mattress. His arm wrapped around her naked waist and he smiled softly.

Grissom slept while Sara pondered forever.

TBC…


	59. Chapter 59

Chapter 59

He didn't stir for a full hour. Sara fluffed up her pillow and leaned back, not sure of what to do while Grissom slept. She had already gone to the bathroom and cleaned herself up a bit, gargling with mouthwash to get rid of the aftertaste her morning coffee had left on her tongue. For a moment she debated rooting in his dresser for a T-shirt to wear, but decided against it; they weren't quite at the stage where she felt completely comfortable in his home. Instead, she slipped back into her underwear and pulled her long-sleeved V-neck shirt over her head and settled back in next to him.

There was something…decadent…about being in bed with her lover at noon on a weekday. It didn't matter that his nose whistled while he breathed or that his feet were _really _cold as they mingled with hers. Nothing detracted from the lush reality that lay before her. He was with her, and he was hers.

Sara inhaled loudly as she took stock of her surroundings. Though Grissom's living room and home office were jam-packed with books and trinkets, his bedroom was just the opposite: the walls were painted a cool, light slate blue, and the room was naked save for the bed, a dresser, and a single nightstand. She had to wonder if Grissom, whose sanctuary was so very sparse, was put off by the bright color and relative clutter of her house. To be sure, it was clean and rather streamlined, but there were always little shoes to trip over and half-finished school projects lying around. Sara found she liked her house that way, but she had to wonder if the almost-fifty year old loner to her left had different ideas.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him twitch. His right hand shot out as he stretched, grazing her head.

"Oh," Grissom said quickly, pulling his arm back. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she told him, brushing it off. "Did you have a nice nap?"

He blinked at her. "Yeah. How long was I out?"

"Not long," she said, sliding down a bit and turning on her side so she could face him. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything -- were you working on your book?"

"I was finishing up the chapter on autopsies," he yawned. "But don't worry. This was a very, very welcome distraction." Grissom leaned in for a small kiss, and Sara obliged. "So you wrapped up your case?" he continued.

She rested a hand on his bearded cheek and sighed. "Yeah. Typical dorm room drama that went too far. I'm so glad it's over." He made a thoughtful face, causing her to furrow her brows. "Do you miss it? The job, I mean."

"Not really," he told her. "It's not that I didn't enjoy working with everyone, but I think I outgrew the job -- the day to day grind of it, the endless paperwork, the bureaucracy -- everything I loved about what I did was stripped away and I felt like all I had in front of me was the worst of it."

Sara leaned her head against her pillow and gazed up at Grissom. "Were you feeling this before…Shannon? Before she went missing? Or did that case trigger…something?"

"I was in a rut. A big one," he admitted, turning over on his stomach and crossing his arms over his pillow so he could rest his head on them. "I could tell her boss loved her from the moment we interviewed him. And I let myself get lost in the case," Grissom explained. "I thought…if Shannon comes back, then her boss can tell her how much he loves her, and I can see how that works out. I felt like they were a dress rehearsal for us."

Sara arched a brow at his admission.

"And when we couldn't find her," he continued, "it was like I was losing you, losing the chance to ever be with you."

"And then I changed shifts…" she added.

"And I went crazy."

Sara pursed her lips in concern at his confession, but Grissom just kept talking, staring straight at his headboard. "For some…weird reason…I thought that finding Shannon would mean bringing you back, that uniting her with Ned Myers would mean we'd have a chance. He was this…broken man, and he was me. I was him. I _knew _what it was like to be him. Or I guess I imagined it, but while it's happening…it feels real. When we found Shannon…"

His voice died off. She placed a soothing hand on his bare back , stroking lightly. "That was a bad day."

"That was the worst day," he said. "I was happy that you were happy, Sara. But when we found Shannon's body, it was as if I officially lost you. The best I could do was to rationalize the fact that you weren't lying in a ditch somewhere -- you were happy, a mother. That might've been enough to get me through, but then….then…"

"Myers confessed."

"Yes," Grissom whispered. "And I was lost. I equated his love for Shannon with my love for you. He had been my equal the entire time. My brother. We were fighting the same war, or so I thought. I was wrong."

"You're not the first CSI to be conned by a suspect," Sara reminded him softly.

"It's not about my pride, honey. It never was. The case was over and I was as empty-handed as a killer."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

Grissom broke his gaze with the headboard and turned his neck to look at her. In a swift movement, he had her encircled in his arms, his hands moving under her shirt to map out the contours of her back. "I don't think I remember a time when life was easy."

"It's not supposed to be."

He looked at her, a trifle shocked by her statement.

"Life can be messy. It can be beautiful," she said, sweeping a hand down his back to rest low on his hip. "Name an adjective and you can use it to describe life. Except easy. If it's easy, that's not really living. It's existing. You're too good to just exist."

Grissom regarded her for a long moment, but said nothing. He extracted his hand from underneath her shirt and lifted it to her face, brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ears, smoothing his hand back down to rest on her collarbone.

"I really like you," she said softly.

Confusion washed over his face. "You like me?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you loved --"

"I love you and I like you."

"Okay. Is that a good thing?"

"I think so," she smiled.

"Just checking."

TBC…


	60. Chapter 60

A/N: Thank you to all who are reading. I don't even mean the reviews, which mean a lot, too, but just the fact that you are taking the time out to read this, and that you have read the previous chapters…it means so much to me.

Chapter 60

Sara watched as Grissom got out of bed and started to dress. Her stomach had started to rumble so he offered to throw something together quick in his kitchen.

"I just need to see what I have," he told her as he buttoned a clean shirt. "I haven't gone grocery shopping in a while."

She smiled and watched him retreat to the kitchen. Deciding her day off was better spent enjoying Grissom's company rather than staring up at his ceiling while listening to the clatter of pans, she pulled on her pants and followed the noise. He was on his knees, elbow-deep in his pots and pans cupboard obviously searching for something.

"What's up?"

Startled, he flinched and turned around. "You scared me."

"Sorry," she said, crouching down beside him. "What have you decided on?"

Grissom made a face. "I found a can of tomato soup I don't remember buying." He pulled a small saucepan out of the cupboard. "There's also some ice cream, if you want."

Sara laughed. "You weren't kidding when you said you haven't been to the grocery store in a while, were you?"

"I always eat at your house," he said sheepishly. "I get a coffee and a bagel in the morning and then work straight through until it's time to head to your place," he explained as he set the soup on the range to heat up.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand and tugging him out of the kitchen towards his office. "Show me where you work."

The organized chaos of his home office greatly resembled his former space at the lab. There were stacks of papers everywhere, jars housing creatures living and dead, and, Sara conveniently spotted with a smile, a matchbook from the hotel they had stayed at while in Houston. "Take up smoking recently?" she asked, picking up the matchbook.

"Oh…" He blushed. "No, I kept it as a souvenir."

"I stole the soap," she confessed. "It's in my underwear drawer."

"We're a couple of thieves," he laughed, placing his hand at her waist and pulling her to his side.

She leaned into him for a moment and then extracted herself from his embrace so that she could study the notes on his desk. "Your autopsy chapter?" she asked, glancing at him. He nodded and she began to read. "Gil, this is great," she said after several minutes of silence. "No, really," she insisted when he shook his head demurely. "Can I read it from the beginning?"

"Okay," he said, although he didn't sound too sure. Grissom quickly found the file on his computer and opened it. "Don't…expect too much. It's very rough."

"Don't sell yourself short," she told him, taking a seat in his comfy desk chair and turning so she could face his computer screen. He left for the kitchen, remarking that the soup was probably boiling over, and then returned with two bowls and a pair of spoons. Grissom set the bowls down on the desk, moving some papers aside so he could sit on the edge and eat while she continued to read. "This is amazing."

"You like it?" he asked, blowing on a spoonful of the soup to cool it down. "Usually I like chicken noodle, but --"

"Not the soup," Sara exclaimed. "The book! It's wonderful."

"It's really very rough, though, and --"

"Gil," she interrupted, placing a hand on his knee. "Have I been a CSI for more than a decade?"

"Yes," he answered, brows furrowed.

"And did I graduate from an Ivy League institution?"

"Yes."

"So it's safe to say I know my stuff," she said with a smile, giving his knee a squeeze. "You're really good at this. Great, actually."

"Let's hope my editor thinks so," he sighed. "I have a meeting with him later this month. He hasn't given me much feedback yet."

"He's a moron if he doesn't think this is brilliant. And I'm not saying that because I'm sleeping with you or because you do such a fantastic job heating up soup," she laughed. "This is really great. Your introduction doesn't meander; it's insightful, engaging, and really realistic. You're a great CSI," she told him softly. "I think everyone you worked with probably thought you heard that all the time, and so maybe they didn't tell you often, but you are great at what you do -- whether it's fieldwork or writing or…I don't know. I bet you'd be an awesome finger painter if you tried."

He laughed and licked the back of his spoon. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"No problem," she smiled, and turned back to the screen to continue to read.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in his office chatting about is book. It felt nice to discuss their field of expertise without having to directly refer to a case or censor the subject matter because Brenda was nearby. Sara began to help him clear their dishes when she noticed the time. "Peggy is going to be bringing Brenda back from ballet soon. I've got to be home to meet her there and start dinner. Any requests?"

"Anything you make will be better than soup from a can," he told her.

"All right," she said, gathering up her coat and walking with him to his front door. "I'll see you in a bit?"

"Mmm-hmm," he nodded, leaning forward to kiss her goodbye. Sara wrapped her arms around Grissom's neck and melted into the kiss. Though she knew she'd see him again in less than an hour, she knew it would be different. They wouldn't be free to touch, free to kiss and caress absentmindedly while they talked to their hearts' content. Sara's day off brought a brief glimpse of the honeymoon period of their relationship that they missed out on. She didn't regret the time she spent with her daughter, but she knew it limited her relationship with Grissom -- and it caused her to ache in a way she hadn't ever before. He spent his evenings with her in close proximity, but he was off limits. As the woman he loved, she had every right to touch him, but couldn't. It was a bittersweet torture that was sometimes hard to endure.

Sara pulled away and looked at him. "I think when Brenda goes to sleep tonight we should talk about some kind of…schedule."

"Schedule?"

"For spending time together," she clarified. "I don't know about you, but…I _need _more days like this with you."

"Okay."

"Good," she said, kissing him again before they said their goodbyes.

When he arrived at her house, they continued their daily routine with Brenda the center of attention. The little girl basked in it, making the forced distance between the two adults a bit easier to bear. They smiled contentedly at each other as Brenda prattled on about her upcoming Thanksgiving recital.

"So we drew names out of a hat and I have to be a pilgrim even though it's boring."

"The pilgrims were actually rather brave," Grissom countered.

"Why?"

"Well, think of what it must've been like for them -- crossing the Atlantic Ocean for the New World, leaving behind everything familiar to start a new life in what was basically the wilderness. It takes guts," he told her. "Taking any big step like that takes guts."

"I guess so," Brenda said, shrugging her shoulders. "Maybe it won't completely suck to be a pilgrim."

He laughed. "That's the spirit."

TBC…


	61. Chapter 61

Chapter 61

After tucking Brenda in, Sara met up with Grissom in the kitchen. He was loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. She watched him for a moment. He was so comfortable in her home, something she couldn't have imagined when they had sat in her apartment months earlier as she recollected her past to him. He had been fidgety even before she let him in on all the gory details.

He stayed because he knew she needed him to.

But now? Sara had a feeling that he was sticking around because something in Grissom needed to be there with her, with them. He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. "Just finishing up."

"I'd tell you it's not necessary but I know by now it's not going to stop you."

"Right you are, my dear," he said, meticulously squeezing some dishwashing detergent into the machine and carefully closing it.

"So," she began, taking a breath, "we need a schedule."

"Before we talk about that, I need to tell you something." He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. She lifted a brow and he continued. "When you were on the phone with work earlier, Brenda invited me to her Thanksgiving recital."

Sara's heart skipped a beat. "Oh. What did you say?"

"I…said yes. I could hardly say no. I mean, she just asked me. But…I knew I'd have to check with you," he told her.

"Check with me? Why?"

"Because…you're her mother."

She shrugged, doing her best to act casual. "It's Brenda's recital. She's allowed to invite whomever she wants. It's great that she asked you." A nasty thought seized her conscious, causing Sara's stomach to lurch. "Unless…you don't want to go."

"No, no…I want to go," Grissom told her quietly.

"Great," she said soberly, willing her brain to stop spinning. It shouldn't have surprised her that Brenda had asked Grissom to attend. They had spent most of the evening in an in-depth discussion on the Pilgrims and the first Thanksgiving. The subject seemed vastly more interesting to Brenda in Grissom's hands. He debunked myths, his vivid explanations holding the little girl's attention as she stared at him, wide-eyed, and listened. Sara was thrilled that the two had formed a bond thick enough to be sustained without her presence, but a small part of her worried about being out in public with him. Oh, they had gone to the movies and to restaurants, traveling the city carefree, but those activities came with a sort of anonymity. A waitress taking their orders would just assume they were a family of three, out for dinner. Sara never had to introduce Grissom to the teenager who took the tickets at the movie theater.

The fifth grade Thanksgiving recital would be different. Sara hadn't spent years as a mother, but she knew enough from her interaction with Norah and Martin's parents and her trip to Brenda's school for parent-teacher meetings that people with children like to mingle. They introduce themselves, ask what you do for a living, and chat you up casually while you wait in line for your five minutes with the teacher. Alone at the play, Sara would have just had to smile at the other parents, ask them how they've been, comment on how adorable the children look in their costumes, and leave it at that. But no, now she would have a nearly six-foot, gorgeous accessory with her.

And that nearly six-foot, gorgeous accessory would need a label.

_Former boss_? Technically, yes. But way too formal.

_Boyfriend_? Technically, yes. But Brenda didn't know.

_Friend_?

She believed so. There had been a time they weren't friendly, though the love was always there. The past couple of months had proved Grissom her best friend, however.

Friend, it was.

Sara smiled at Grissom, a true smile. "You know, she's not going to shut up about Thanksgiving for a long time."

He laughed. "I know. We'll never hear the end of it. I'm glad it's on the Friday before, or else I wouldn't have been able to make it."

Her smile faded. "Why?"

Grissom ambled over to the refrigerator for a drink. "My meeting with my editor. I told you about it earlier. It's in New York."

"You told me about the meeting. Not the New York part."

"Oh. Well. It's in New York -- the Monday and Tuesday before Thanksgiving. I get back that Saturday because I couldn't get an earlier flight, what with the holiday rush." He poured a glass of water for himself. "Want one?"

"No, thank you." Sara straightened the dishtowel on the drying rack.

"Something wrong?" he asked, looking up at her, concerned.

"No…it's just…I don't know. I guess I figured we'd be spending Thanksgiving together." She almost regretted saying it the moment the words left her mouth. It sounded needy of her, but she couldn't help it. He had just committed to attending her daughter's Thanksgiving recital and then, barely a minute later, had informed her he'd be spending the holiday away from them.

"I…I guess I could cancel. I mean --"

"No, don't," Sara said firmly. His offer to drop his plans at the mere hint of her discontent had her heart softening. She recalled the doubt in his expression when she lauded his writing that morning and her mind was made up. "I want you to go to New York so you can hear just how wonderful your book is. We'll celebrate after Brenda's recital."

Grissom grinned at her. There was something so sweet and innocent about his smile. They made their way into the living room where they took seats close together on the couch. Sara wound her arm around his neck, letting her fingers drift in the hair at his nape. "So what about us? How are we going to have our…time together?"

"It's pretty much up to your schedule," he told her. "I'm flexible."

She leaned in and kissed his bearded cheek simply because she could. "Brenda has ballet Tuesdays and Thursdays -- Peggy Oliver drives her to and from class with Norah. Wednesdays, she has piano, and that's two hours, but I have to leave work early so I can bring her there and pick her up. Mondays and Fridays…the school bus drops her off here at around four."

"What about Wednesdays?"

"Hmm?"

"You drop her off at her piano lesson, meet me back here or my place, and then go and pick her up. I could even start dinner if you want," he said pleasantly.

Sara toyed with the hair on the back of his head and considered it. "Wednesdays?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Hump day."

"Oh, you're hilarious," she said, rolling her eyes and cuddling closer. "Wednesdays it is. You know, I'm going to be going out of my mind every Tuesday," she whispered into his ear before moving to kiss along his jaw line.

"Honey, we can't," he told her, but she moved quickly to capture his lips.

"Just a little," she said softly into his mouth. "I want to kiss you."

Grissom didn't seem to object any further as he tugged her onto his lap and joined the kiss avidly. Sara knew they could do nothing more than make out. Brenda was upstairs and the idea that she could catch them sent a nervous chill up her spine, but his lips were so sweet, his mouth so giving, that Sara decided to risk the next precious moments and enjoy him. After a few more minutes of mild groping, Grissom pulled his mouth away from hers. "We've got to stop."

"Yeah, I know," she said, sitting back down next to him doing her best not to sulk.

He smiled, shaking his head and leaning back down against the couch cushions. "It's hard for me, too, Sara."

She put her head on his shoulder and exhaled. "I never thought anything like this would be an issue when I adopted Brenda. I had these visions of all the challenges I'd face…this was not one of them. Sex just wasn't something I thought would be a part of my life for a very long time." She began to play with the fingers of the hand that rest in her lap. "I worried about explaining sex to Brenda. I worried about that a lot at first."

"You don't now?" Grissom asked.

"Well," she said, shifting a bit to get comfortable, "my plan was to say something about how sex should be between adults who care about each other, and that it's best when you love the person and the person loves you."

"That sounds reasonable."

"Yeah," Sara sighed. "It just hit me now that it's true."

TBC…


	62. Chapter 62

A/N: Have you ever seen _The Verdict_? I want to have Paul Newman's babies.

Chapter 62

Sara took off work the day of Brenda's Thanksgiving recital, choosing instead to spend the sunny Friday at Grissom's place. She surprised him at his doorstep with fresh fruit and bagels, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey," he smiled softly as he opened the door, taking her in.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she said, stepping over the threshold. "And even if I am, tough, because you're leaving soon and I'm not going to be able to see you."

He closed the door behind her and took the food from her hands, setting it down on the breakfast bar. "I'm always glad to see you."

She smiled and looked him over. He was barefoot and in his sweats, which was sweetly endearing. Sara was not used to seeing Grissom at all mussed. There was something about his appearance that was usually so controlled, so groomed, that messy hair and bare feet had her pleasantly surprised. His beard was longer, too -- a bit wiry, but he made an altogether charming picture. "Let's eat."

They began to unload the large paper bags Sara had brought with her. "Shit."

She looked up at him and blinked. "What?"

"I don't have coffee."

Grinning widely, she reached into one of the bags and pulled out some freshly ground gourmet coffee. "I come prepared."

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" he asked, gratefully taking the coffee grounds from her hand so he could prepare the beverage.

"Oh, you were probably a saint in a previous life," she chuckled as she sliced a bagel in half. "Saint Blandina, maybe?"

He looked up from the coffeemaker. "Blandina?"

"Patron Saint of those Falsely Accused of Cannibalism," she smiled.

"You're making that up," Grissom said as he carefully scooped the coffee into the paper funnel.

"Saint Nicholas of Myra, then?"

"_Santa Claus_?" he asked incredulously, a hand moving immediately to his beard. "Is it that bad? Brenda said I should shave it, and I was thinking--"

Sara laughed. "Before he modeled for Coke cans, Saint Nicholas was the Patron Saint of Pawnbrokers. Comes in handy considering we're in Vegas."

"How do you know all this weird stuff?"

"You're one to talk! Hmm…Saint Drogo?"

Grissom raised his brows and turned to the coffeemaker once again. "The Patron Saint of the Hideously Ugly? Thanks."

"Maybe you _were _really ugly in a previous life," she began as she walked up behind him, placing a hand at his waist just where his sweatshirt ended. "Cringe-inducing." Sara slipped her fingers under the material, walking them up the bare skin of his back slowly. "Children would hide their eyes at the sight of you; old women would scream," she added, using her other hand to switch the coffeemaker off before tugging the sweatshirt over his head and turning him around to face her. "As you can see," Sara sighed, pressing kisses to his neck, "I'm thoroughly horrified." Her mouth moved up to his chin where she bit playfully. "You're not _that _hungry, are you?"

Grissom pursed his mouth in good humor. "I don't think saints are supposed to have sex."

"Get in the bedroom," she laughed, swatting his ass. "Your sainthood has been revoked. You're lowly Drogo again."

"Doomed to be ugly," he chuckled as they rushed to his room.

"Hideously ugly," Sara corrected, stripping off her pants and shirt. Grissom sat on the bed in his sweatpants, watching her as she toed off her shoes and peeled off her socks. "Lay back," she said, her voice husky with longing. He did as she asked and smiled when she knelt on the bed, crawling on top of him, careful not to rub her body alongside his yet. She paused when her eyes met his and she watched him, her expression serious for the first time that morning. "You know I was joking, right?"

Grissom shook his head, confused, as he began to shimmy out of his sweatpants from his awkward position on the bed.

"You're not ugly," she clarified.

"Gee, thanks," he said rolling his eyes while he kicked off his sweats.

Sara laughed. "You're really quite…lovely."

"Lovely?"

"Yeah," she breathed, kissing one of the corners of his mouth, testing the different textures she found there against her lips. "Very fetching."

"Fetching?"

"Uh-huh," she said, biting softly on his bottom lip and pulling gently. Sara sat up and removed her bra while he looked on. His hands flew to her panties, pulling them down as far as they could go. She tilted to one side and managed to get one leg out of its hole before settling back down on his body and slowly grinding against him, the panties hanging off the other thigh. Grissom looped his hand through the hole she had vacated, twisting it around his wrist so he could tug her down harder against him.

She smiled at him. "Condom?"

Grissom's face fell. "You don't have one with you?"

Sara's grin slid off her face as she stopped moving. "No. What about your stash?"

"We used them up on Wednesday. I didn't buy more yet because I'm going away…I was going to pick them up when I got back."

"Oh, Jesus," she groaned. If she weren't so horny, it might've been funny.

"Wait a minute…when was the last time you had your period? Maybe we could--"

"Two weeks ago," she sighed, lifting herself off of him so she could sit down on the bed. "Are you gonna go buy some, or should I?"

Grissom sat up next to her, his hair adorably messy. "I'll go. You brought breakfast." He moved to the edge of the bed and fished for his sweatpants, pulling them on blindly. As he stood up, Grissom made a face and looked down at the excess of material bunching around his crotch.

Sara let out a laugh as she pulled her panties off of the remaining leg. "They're on backwards."

"I figured," he frowned, watching her settle back against the pillows while he tugged off his pants. "So you're just going to lay there?"

"Uh huh."

"And relax?"

She smiled serenely as she stretched. "Yep."

"While I go out and get the condoms?"

"That's the plan. Your sweatshirt's in the kitchen," she said when she saw him eyeing the room for it. Sara winked. "I started divesting you there."

"Who's the Patron Saint of Blue Balls?" he grumbled.

TBC…


	63. Chapter 63

A/N: I honestly did not realize that yesterday was the second anniversary of this fic. That's shameful! I'm really going to get it done soon. I promise. I hope everyone enjoys the finale. Hugs to all!

Chapter 63

"I come bearing gifts," he smiled, tossing the paper bag onto the bed before pulling off his sweatshirt.

Sara leaned back on her elbows and watched him. "I don't think I've ever seen someone get naked so fast."

"Incentive," Grissom grinned. He grabbed the paper bag from the bed and pulled out a large box of condoms. "I got the economy pack. We won't run out for a while."

"I was thinking…" Sara sighed, drumming her fingers on her belly.

He kneeled on the bed, ripping into the box and pulling out a small packet. "Yeah? Thinking about what?" He looked like a kid eager to play with his new toy.

"Wouldn't it be easier if I just got on some kind of birth control? The patch or the pill. Or maybe an IUD," she said absentmindedly as he rolled the condom onto his erection.

"Yeah, great," he said breathlessly, gently pushing her back on the bed.

Sara opened her legs so he could settle comfortably between them. "You're not even listening."

"Yeah, I am," he breathed. "Birth control…something, something." Her laugh ended on a moan as he began to inch his way inside her. "I'm trying to concentrate here."

Sara's hands moved over his back before dipping down to his waist, pressing him closer to her. She closed her eyes, pushing her head back against the mattress hard as he began to move. They joined their hips in unison slowly, going back and forth until they reached a comfortable rhythm. It never took long to get it just right. He grunted into the crook of her neck, his beard tickling her, making her giggle.

Grissom slowed down and lifted his head up. "What?"

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Nothing," she sighed, bringing her hands down to his rear, urging him to increase his pace. "You smell nice," she said, breathing him in and closing her eyes once again.

His hips sped up and he cleared his throat. "Uh…thank you," he said between thrusts. "You smell nice, too."

Sara laughed as she came, pulsing around him and opening her eyes so she could watch him follow her. Grissom grunted before lowering his head down to kiss her, moaning into her mouth as his sloppy thrusts slowed to a stop. She gently motioned to roll them over, rising up on her knees so she could remove the condom. He watched her as she got off the bed to toss it in the wastepaper basket by his dresser. "Uh…what were you talking about before?" he asked, resting a hand low on his belly. "I can't remember."

She sighed and smiled as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Birth control. I'm thinking about getting on the pill."

Grissom's eyes widened. "Sounds good."

Sara crawled up next to him, placing a kiss on his cheek. "You're very adorable."

"I'm glad you took off from work," he said, pulling her to his side.

"So am I," she murmured, getting comfortable. "Was I interrupting anything?" she asked suddenly. "You can tell me, you know."

"No, no," he said softly, staring up at the ceiling. "I already sent what I've written to my publisher. I just have to meet with some people in New York so we can figure out where to go from here."

Sara braced a hand on his chest, her thumb making tiny, soothing circles. "You've done a really great job, Gil. No, you have," she insisted quickly when he began to shrug off her compliment. "Shut up and learn to take praise," she laughed.

"I think I like being the Patron Saint of the Cannibals -- or whatever it was -- better," he smiled.

"Saint Blandina, Patron Saint of those who were Falsely Accused of Cannibalism," she reminded him.

"How _do _you know so much about this stuff?" he asked quizzically.

She let her hand wander down to his bellybutton. "One of my foster mothers. Her name was Beverly. She was Catholic. And when I say Catholic, I mean _hardcore _Irish Catholic. I was there for eighteen months." Grissom said nothing as he pulled her closer to him. Sara sighed and continued, "She had a lot of rules. _A lot_. All I wanted to do then -- I was thirteen -- all I wanted to do was read books. All she wanted us to do was study religion. I quickly learned that the faster I memorized the popes and the Apostles and all that stuff, the sooner she'd let me go on to read what I wanted to read. I became her model pupil."

"I'm not surprised," he said softly.

"Oh, she wanted me to be a nun," Sara exclaimed with good humor. "She said I'd be perfect for it."

Grissom chuckled as he let a hand sweep over her breast. "Mmm…not _so _perfect." Her nipple began to harden and he pinched it between two fingers. "Sister Sara."

They both laughed tiredly as they held each other close. "Breakfast," she sighed.

"Yeah," he breathed.

Sara closed her eyes. "In a little bit."

"Yeah."

TBC…


	64. Chapter 64

Chapter 64

They relaxed the day away, not bothering to get dressed as they snuggled under the covers, snacking on the food Sara brought and flipping through the channels on TV without paying much attention to what was on. The skin-on-skin contact was so welcome, so comforting. Though they had slept together before, Grissom and Sara never really spent time being lazy. Her work and his book took up a large part of their days, and their nights were occupied by a ten-year-old. They lived full lives, but they rarely had the luxury to bask in their relationship.

"I like this," Sara sighed, moving to press a kiss to his shoulder before settling her head back down on it.

"Me too."

Into the second hour of _Absence of Malice_, Grissom glanced at the clock on the nightstand and sat up straight, dislodging Sara from her happy position on his shoulder. "It's four o'clock. Brenda -- she's…her bus. It'll be dropping her off now at your house."

She smiled at him as she leaned against the pillow. "Margaret Cheng -- Martin's mother -- is taking the kids to her house so they can eat before she drops them back off at school so they can get ready for the recital. She lives closest to the school."

The information seemed to slowly register in Grissom's brain and he joined her on the pillow. "Oh. Okay."

"We've got to be there by six. I'm going to need to shower and change before then."

"Me too," he said, pursing his lips in thought. "What's the dress code for this?"

Sara burst out laughing. "Dress code? I don't know. Wear what you usually wear."

"So…no suit or anything? Like, I don't have to wear a tie, right?" he asked.

"Just…wear the clothes you would wear if you were coming over for dinner."

"Okay," Grissom sighed, adjusting his head on the pillow. "I just didn't want to be underdressed."

She giggled. He was nervous. It was sweet. "It's a fifth grade Thanksgiving recital, not he Oscars."

Sara soon left for home. They had made plans for him to pick her up at half past five and then drive them to the school so they'd be there with time to spare. She took her time in the shower, relaxing under the hot stream of water before drying off and dressing with some care. She put on a nice pair of pants and then opened her dresser drawer and stared at the light pink sweater set she had purchased a couple of months earlier. The tags were still on.

It was such a…a _mom _thing to wear. Sara's wardrobe hadn't changed all too much since adopting Brenda, but she had made a conscious effort to not dress like a college student -- no tie-dyed shirts, no sloppy patterns and overly clunky boots. She was well into her thirties, a mother, and had a boyfriend approaching fifty. Looking like a twenty-six year old was not a priority.

She slipped on the sweater set, lifting her hair out of the collar, and then checked her reflection in the mirror, frowning at what she saw. It just…wasn't her.

Sara tugged off the cardigan before going into her closet and pulling out a sleek brown leather jacket. She slipped it on and smiled in the mirror. The pink of the soft cashmere T-shirt contrasted nicely with the chocolate brown of the leather, giving her the best of both worlds. She was a mom, but she was still herself.

Not long after, Sara dimly heard the front door open and Grissom call out her name. "We should get going soon, honey."

"I'll be down in a second," she said as she fastened the clasp on the locket Brenda had given her for her birthday. She walked down the stairs, her mind on all manner of things when she came to the landing and was face to face with a beardless Grissom. Sara squeaked her surprise, covering her mouth with one hand. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, the words muffled by her palm.

Self-conscious, his hands flew to his cheeks. "Does it look bad?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. Of course not. It's just…different." After taking a step forward, Sara tentatively put a hand on his naked face, tracing the contours of his jaw. "I almost forgot what you looked like without it."

"Do you…do you like it? I could grow it back."

"Why did you shave it?"

He shrugged. "I got to talking with Brenda when we were working on her report on the Civil War. We read about how Lincoln grew his beard when a little girl suggested it to him in a letter. And then she told me she thought I'd look nice if I shaved my beard."

"So you did?"

"Well…yeah. Obviously. Do you like it?"

Sara's lips slowly curved into a wide smile. "You look amazing." She leaned in and rubbed her lips on his smooth cheek. It was an odd feeling. She had grown so used to his facial hair and the texture of it. This would take some getting used to, and she was more than willing to dedicate the time and effort to do so. Her mouth found his and she kissed him softly. He sighed into her mouth and kiss her for a few long seconds before Sara pulled back. "We'd better get going."

Grissom opened the passenger side door for her, and she moved to climb in when something caught her eye in the backseat. "Flowers?"

He bit his lip awkwardly. "Uh…yeah. For Brenda. I figured…you know, she's performing and everything. And performers are usually given flowers when they get off a stage. So…"

She wanted to hug him. She really did. As he closed her door and moved to the driver's side, her eyes followed him. When he sat down next to her, Sara grabbed his hand and squeezed it, giving him a small smile.

He smiled back tentatively and then started the car. She gave him directions to Brenda's school and they drove there in silence. When they arrived, her heart began to beat fast in her chest. This was their first public outing where they would come across people she knew, people she would see again. It was an exhilarating, almost scary feeling. They walked through the main entrance of the school and followed the signs to the auditorium. Grissom sighed.

She turned to him, nervous. "What?"

"I think this is the first time in my adult life I've been in a school that wasn't also a crime scene."

Eyebrows raised, she nodded. "Oh."

They entered the double doors of the auditorium. It was decorated in harvest colors, with drawings by all of the children lining the marble walls. Sara spotted the parents of Brenda's friends and tugged Grissom's elbow. "Come on," she said softly. "I've got to say hi." Part of her wanted to ask him if he'd rather find them seats, but she knew it was best to just get the introductions over with. "Those are the Olivers. They're Norah's parents," she whispered. "They're with Martin's parents -- the Chengs. Both doctors."

He nodded as they approached the two couples. Sara plastered a smile onto her face as she greeted them. "This is…Gil," she said, gesturing to her side. Grissom politely shook everyone's hand.

Peggy Oliver gave them a catlike smile. "So this is Gil. Norah told us about you. She had a great time when you took the girls to Build-A-Bear."

"Oh…good."

Sara's hand slipped into the crook of his arm. "We're going to…go get seats."

"Sit here," David Cheng smiled. "There's plenty of room."

They took their seats, stiffly sitting down next to the other two couples. Sara had not realized that Norah and Martin had mentioned Grissom to their parents who had obviously figured out that he was more than just her friend. It suddenly occurred to her that upon seeing him, it was entirely possible -- and probable in the case of Peggy Oliver -- that the couples would make remarks in front of their own children about the relationship and that chatter would get back to Brenda.

"Sara."

She blinked to her left and saw Peggy getting out of her seat. "Margaret and I are going to the little girl's room -- literally. You should come, too. These plays are always longer than you think they're going to be."

"I, uh…okay." Sara got up and gave a nervous, apologetic smile to Grissom before following the other two women to the bathroom. A line had formed outside and, as they waited, Peggy playfully gave Sara a pat on the arm.

"What a hottie."

She blushed. "Um…thank you."

"When I asked Norah what 'Sara's friend' was like, all she said was that he was smart and had glasses. I don't know why, but I was picturing Bill Gates," Peggy said, and she and Margaret began to laugh.

"How long have you known him?" Margaret asked pleasantly.

"Years. We, uh…haven't been together that long. But I've known him for a long time," she explained. "Brenda doesn't know about it. We're sort of…laying low right now."

"In case it doesn't work out?"

Sara let out a nervous laugh. "I think in case it does."

TBC…


	65. Chapter 65

Chapter 65

Sara quickly found her seat as the lights dimmed. She put her hand on Grissom's knee and squeezed while the curtains opened to a massive cardboard cutout of the Mayflower which loomed on a blue cellophane ocean. A child she didn't recognize appeared from behind the paper mast, buckled hat and all, and cleared his throat.

"One-hundred and two of us set sail from our native land of England for the New World in pursuit of religious freedom. For over a month we have braved the harsh Atlantic waters," the young pilgrim explained, his voice adorably pompous, "in search of our goal." More children began to crowd the deck of the fake boat, each offering a fact about the journey.

Sara's eyes zoned in on Brenda. She stood quietly, with her hands clasped in front of her body, until it was her time to speak. "Land ho!" she exclaimed, pointing ahead to a papier-mâché boulder recently pushed out onto the stage. "We have reached the New World. Let us drop our anchor and begin a new leg of our journey. We are home."

Grissom turned to beam at Sara as the curtain dropped on the first act. "She was great," he whispered, and Sara nodded proudly. The three of them had practiced Brenda's lines night after night in anticipation of the girl's stage debut. Both adults could recite the play by heart, and had been required to stand in as several characters while they ran through lines after dinner. The quiet bustle of the audience caught Sara's attention, and she watched as practically every parent around her began fiddling with either a camera or a camcorder.

"I didn't bring anything," she whispered. "I forgot to bring a camera," she explained when he looked at her oddly.

Grissom reached into his pocket for his cell phone. "This takes pictures," he said. "Although…I doubt we'd be able to get a close up of her face."

"Don't worry about it," David Cheng assured them as he gestured to his camcorder. "I'm recording the whole thing and Margaret is taking pictures. We'll give you a copy of everything."

Sara smiled warmly at the couple and thanked them. They enjoyed the rest of the play without worry, squeezing each others' hands giddily whenever Brenda had a line. When the miniature cast took their final bow, the crowd stood and applauded. The lights came back on and everyone began gathering their jackets and bags. Sara furrowed her brow and turned to the Olivers and the Chengs. "Where do we meet the kids?"

Peggy laughed. "We collect them in the lobby. They've gotta change first, of course, although I have a feeling Norah will try to get away with wearing her tribal gear for the rest of the night."

They met Norah, clad in a full feather headdress, along with her pilgrim buddies, in the lobby of the school near the security desk. Grissom gave Brenda her large bouquet, and Sara could tell that she wasn't exactly sure what to do with it at first. She thanked him politely and soon the girls were sticking their heads in the blooms and inhaling deeply while Martin replaced his pilgrim hat with a Dodgers ball cap.

"We're going out to eat," Peggy told Sara as they walked out to the parking lot. "You guys have to come. It's our treat."

"Oh," Sara said, turning to look at Grissom. She wasn't sure how he'd respond to a couple of hours under the microscope with no escape. "Um…do you want to come?" she asked him quietly. "Or do you want to maybe just drop us off and we'll get a ride home? I'd understand if…"

"I'll come, Sara," he said.

They climbed into Grissom's car and followed Tim Oliver's truck to a cushy diner off of the Strip. "I don't think I'd make a very good actress," Brenda said as they parked the car.

"What are you talking about?" Grissom asked. "You were amazing."

"I was nervous."

"Well," he said as he unbuckled his seat and turned around to face her, "I couldn't tell. As far as I'm concerned, you were the best one on the stage. You emoted."

"I know what that means," Brenda sighed. "And I don't think I did. Or if I emoted anything, it was, like…terror."

"But don't you think the Pilgrims were terrified during their journey?"

The girl smiled despite the rolling of her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

They joined the two families at the entrance of the restaurant and waited a few minutes until the hostess made room for the party of nine. They were seated in a giant round booth, the kids huddling together on the cushion while the adults took their seats at the large table. "So, great job, everybody," Margaret smiled as they were handed their menus. "It really was informative and entertaining."

"Four stars," Peggy smiled, and the rest of the adults joined in on the praise while the bashful kids tried in vain to act cool. They ordered their food and chatted. Sara had been initially worried that Grissom would play the aloof loner, and while it looked like he was never going to open his mouth at first, their dinner companions were just the right amount of intelligent and sweet to bring out the conversation in him. He engaged in a long discussion about the use of maggots in medicine with the Chengs -- who seemed delighted to finally meet another person who found the bugs as marvelous as they did -- and then talked baseball with Tim Oliver and little Martin Cheng, a diehard Dodgers fan much like Grissom himself.

The dinner was lively and pleasant, and the adults became so engrossed in their talk that it wasn't until Brenda began lightly snoring on Martin's shoulder that they realized it was getting late. To Sara's surprise, Grissom picked her up out of the booth and carried her out to the car. This wasn't the first time Brenda had fallen asleep on them, but it was the first time she wasn't the one holding her. It sent a strange tingle down Sara's spine to see him holding her daughter's sleeping body as they walked to the car. That was her baby, and he was cradling her so gently…

Emotions swelled up inside Sara but she squashed them down quickly. They had only been dating for a handful of months. And Grissom was still Grissom. He had entered into their relationship with so much reluctance that Sara feared wishing for more would just be setting them both up for disappointment and failure.

But he was buckling her in so sweetly, making sure the strap didn't cut at her neck. She had to look away, it was too much to watch. Swallowing back her tears, Sara walked to the passenger door and opened it. She took her seat and stared out into the parking lot.

Everything had changed.

TBC…

A/N: I'm getting closer to the end of this. I've been getting a lot of reviews and PMs (which I haven't been able to reply to like I wish I could due to a really bad internet connection) regarding where the story should go, and it's hitting me that some people are expecting a lot more description of how this will all unfold -- which is much more than I plan to write. So for those people, I feel like it's necessary that I say that you are probably going to be disappointed. My whole goal with this -- and I don't know if this is a spoiler for the end or whatever -- is to set up the characters so they feasibly have the choice to be a family. Please don't expect a chapter where Grissom is grumbling about Brenda's prom date with the nose ring and tattoos or where Nick baby-sits so that Grissom and Sara can jet off to Maui and then he and Brenda bond about abuse. I feel bad disappointing people, but this thing is sixty-five chapters long so far. I don't have another sixty-five in me.


	66. Chapter 66

Chapter 66 

While Brenda spent the bulk of her Saturday at a classmate's birthday party, Sara drove Grissom to the airport. She tried not to focus on the fact that they wouldn't be together for a week, devoting much of her time, instead, to reminding him how wonderful his writing was. His confidence had seemed rather shaky, and she believed it was because of the way he left his job that summer. The Shannon Carmichael case had incapacitated him to the point where the entire lab, and not just Sara, was aware of how devastated he was by the outcome. He left the lab right after Myers confessed and from her interaction with her co-workers after his departure, she knew they were concerned about their former leader. On occasion, Brass would touch base with her in order to make sure his friend was in a good place. Relief washed over his face whenever she would assure him that Grissom was fine, that he was happy and busy.

Sara knew that it must have hit Grissom by now that his behavior while he worked the case had everyone in the lab raising their eyebrows. And while the people who worked for him had moments of weakness during cases, for _him_ to be affected by an investigation to the point where he had to leave the lab was not something anyone could have ever imagined. She had always believed him somewhat invincible and she knew that she was not alone in that. When anyone fell, Grissom was always there to pick them up, albeit in his unconventional way.

But when it was Grissom's turn to fall…he hit the ground hard. And while he had seemed to get over the pain that accompanied his fall, Sara believed there was an embarrassment that was beginning to surface, and it was overtaking his confidence. Instead of pulling up next to departures so he could unload the trunk and check his bag, she followed the signs to the parking lock and pulled into a space.

"You don't have to come with me. It's just a lot of waiting," he said, though she could see Grissom didn't look too broken up about getting to spend more time with her.

As he moved to get out of the car, she grabbed his elbow, keeping him in his seat. Sara unbuckled her belt and leaned in to kiss him, her left hand moving to his now-smooth face. He cupped both hands around her jaw and explored her mouth gently.

"I miss you already," she whispered against his lips.

He pulled back and blinked at her. "I don't have to go."

Sara shook her head and laughed. "Yes. Yes, you do." He needed to hear feedback on his work that didn't come from the woman who was in love with him. It wasn't that she felt that love was coloring her judgment of his work; it was brilliant – better than any basic textbook she had read while studying forensics in college. But she knew that, for years, so much of Grissom's self-worth had come from his job. For the past few months his job consisted of compiling a textbook and working on fifth grade math. Though he enjoyed helping Brenda with her schoolwork, Sara knew that wasn't enough to fill the void that leaving the lab had left in him. "Your book is wonderful," she sighed, patting his face lightly. "And if you don't see that…well, you're not as smart as I thought you were," she joked before giving him a small kiss on the cheek. "Seriously though, I wouldn't let you go off to New York if I thought something needed to be fixed."

Grissom exhaled loudly and sat back in his seat. "Can I call you after I get out of the first meeting?"

"Of course," she exclaimed. "That goes without saying. Whatever the time is, it doesn't matter what I'm doing…just call." Sara watched him for several moments. "You don't have to ask to call me. This is a relationship," she reminded him, trying to keep her tone light. "It's part of the territory. I want you to call me. When you land, call me. Before you go into the first meeting, call me. If you…I don't know…see something that you think I'd think is funny, call me. If you feel homesick, call me…and I'll go out and buy some lingerie," she said softly, tugging on his ear so his lips touched hers, "and we can enjoy it when you get back."

"You're making it hard to leave."

"Was that a pun?"

He smiled against her mouth. "I'm going to miss you."

"You'd better."

After a few more minutes of closeness in the front seat of her car, they got out and gathered his bags. "I remember the last time we were in this situation."

Sara smiled and closed the trunk. "Yeah. Houston."

"I was nervous then, too, but for a host of different reasons," he laughed.

"Well," she smiled, wrapping her arm around Grissom's waist as they rolled his wheelie out of the parking lot and toward the departure terminal, "that turned out quite well, if I do say so myself."

"No complaints here."

Grissom retrieved his e-ticket and ID from his pocket and handed them in so he could check his large suitcase and get his boarding pass. Sara walked him to the line for the metal detectors, still unwilling to relinquish her hold on his waist.

"So I guess this is goodbye."

"Not yet," she sighed, gazing ahead at the long line in front of them.

"No one has ever driven me to the airport before. I mean…not counting taxi drivers."

Sara turned her body ever so slightly into his. "I'll be here to pick you up, too."

"You don't have to," Grissom began, but she cut him off.

"Yeah. I do."

They kissed each other goodbye. She took a step back and watched as he walked through the metal detector and gathered his things from the other side of the X-ray conveyer belt. He waved to her, and she waved back and watched him disappear through a pair of double doors leading to the gates.

One week without Grissom.

It was shocking how integral his presence in her life was. Mornings were spent getting Brenda ready for school. Days were devoted to work. Nights were…well…family time. She had no other way to describe it. In the past six months, Sara had cobbled together a makeshift family. All three components were damaged on their own, but together, they worked. Together, each person complemented the other. The contact had healed old wounds slowly, bringing out the best in the three of them. Brenda was more trusting, Grissom was more open, and Sara was…happy.

Long-lasting happiness was something that was truly new for her. She didn't want to lose it, but she knew that changes were on the horizon, and they would make or break her contentment. Her life right now was going well, but it couldn't remain as it was. Brenda would start asking questions, and Sara was aware that she would need to be ready with a definition for what existed between herself and Grissom so she could explain things to the child in such a manner that was comfortable to all parties involved.

Grissom was in a precarious position. He was dating a single mother – nothing altogether new. Single mothers dated. But Sara was a new mother, and unlike most new mothers, her child wasn't a blissfully unaware newborn. Brenda was a smart, curious ten-year-old whom they couldn't fool forever.

Added to that, the girl was fatherless, and had been since birth as far as Sara was concerned. When she thought about other women in her situation – juggling dating and a pre-teen – it occurred to her that the majority of the children involved had fathers. They might not all be on par with Ward Cleaver, but the role was filled, therefore the men being introduced to a single-mother's child were generally not expected to assume daddy duty. With Brenda…any man Sara chose to make a commitment to would have to face the task of being the man in her daughter's young life as well as her own. Certain things would be expected.

The big question was whether or not Grissom would ever be ready for any of that. He was such a caring, wonderful man. He treated Brenda impeccably.

But there was no expectation.

As "Sara's friend," he was being nice, being helpful. He was wonderful all on his own terms. Grissom had given so much of himself over the past few months, all without Sara having to ask for it. But that had always been the way with him. She'd doggedly go after him only to be pushed away until she finally backed off to go lick her wounds. And then that's when he'd swoop in with the kind gesture, reeling her back in. She'd get her hopes up once again and go on the offense only to be rebuffed, yet again.

It was Grissom's typical pattern.

So far, she had not pushed once when it came to Brenda. And he had not backed off.

But asking for more is what had her stomach in knots. If he did his thing and pulled away, he'd be hurting more than Sara this time. Brenda's heart could be broken as well. The little girl had so few positive male role models and, considering her history, was in dire need of a long-term example of what a good man was. A good man holds your hand while you cry; a good man clears the dinner table without being asked to; a good man hugs you tight like he never wants to let you go; a good man practices lines with your daughter for her school play…

Sara thought of her good man as she walked back to the parking lot. He was everything she could've asked for.

And that was the problem. She hadn't really asked for any of it. It numbed her to think of what his reaction would be like if she finally tried to discuss his role in Brenda's life. Would he go with his usual pattern? Would he be warm and giving up until she asked that of him on a regular basis?

In her heart, Sara truly did not think so. She wanted to believe that everything perfect he was doing now he wanted to do.

She could almost believe that.

Almost.

TBC…


	67. Chapter 67

Chapter 67

"I'm at LaGuardia. They lost my bags."

Sara groaned. "Are they still in Vegas?"

"Cincinnati," Grissom answered, sounding slightly fatigued. "I'm going to my hotel, and the airline is going to deliver them when they arrive."

"Good idea. Relax, order room service."

She could hear him sigh into the receiver. "I wish you were here."

"Me too."

They talked about bit more about what she planned to do that evening – pick up Brenda from the birthday party, make some pasta for dinner, do laundry – and then said goodbye. Sara felt a strange sadness as she recounted her schedule to him, for Grissom would've been a part of it had he not been thousands of miles away. Instead of wallowing in the temporary loss, she decided to enjoy spending one-on-one time with her daughter. As the vodka sauce simmered on the stove, Sara painted Brenda's nails at the kitchen table. The bright orange would have to come off before she returned to school on Monday, but they both had a laugh as they admired Sara's handiwork.

"Not bad if I do say so myself," she smiled.

"Now let me do you!"

Sara got up to drain the pasta and then sat back down with her hands splayed out on the table. "We're both going to match the sauce."

With a fairly steady hand, Brenda slowly applied the polish to her mother's nails, getting some paint on her skin now and then, but doing a reasonably good job. "There!" she exclaimed, pulling back and putting the small brush back in the bottle. "Do you like it?"

"Love it!"

They blew softly on their nails for a minute or so and then Sara got up from the table. "How about you get the forks and napkins and I'll bring the plates and food?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Brenda gingerly retrieve the utensils from a kitchen drawer, careful not to disturb the polish on her nails. It wasn't until they sat down at the dining room table and Sara's eyes darted to the empty chair that had been occupied all these months that she felt a wave of sadness pass over her. She did her best to focus on her daughter, and was doing a good job of it until the girl brought up Grissom.

"He said he'd get me one of those I Love New York T-shirts; he said they sell them on the street everywhere there." Sara merely nodded and a happy Brenda filled in the gaps of the conversation with the here and there of a ten-year-old's life.

She set her alarm for four A.M. the morning of his meeting so she could be sure to catch him before he had to go in. "I just wanted to wish you luck," she said softly.

"Thanks," Grissom answered, his voice heavy with sleep.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Um..." She heard him laugh on the other line. "Don't worry about it. I'm always happy to hear your voice."

They talked for a few more minutes before she let him go so he could get some more rest -- but only after he promised to call her before and after his meeting.

"I want details."

"Okay. Goodbye. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sara hung up and got back in bed. She didn't bother to close her eyes. There was no sleeping now that worry was knotted in her stomach. Logic told her she had nothing to worry about. Grissom was a genius. His book was genius. Still, his concern was her concern, and she ached for the good news that would bolster his confidence.

When the good news came -- she escaped to the ladies room to take the call -- Sara could feel the weight lift off of both of their shoulders. She laughed and congratulated him, wiping an errant tear of relief from her cheek with one hand as she leaned against a sink for balance. "I told you," she gloated teasingly. "I'm always right. Do yourself a favor and just take that as fact right now. It'll save you trouble later on."

"Committing it to memory now: my girlfriend is always right."

Girlfriend. Sara's heart beat double time. The door swung open and the new DNA lab tech waltzed in. She cleared her throat and stood up straight, nodding politely at the person who's name she couldn't quite remember before rushing out into the hallway. "Hey," she whispered, "I've gotta go or Dr. Woo is going to send one of the interns looking for me. Congratulations again and," she lowered her voice even more, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sara had a smile plastered to her face for the next couple of days. Since the good news about his book, he would call just after their usual dinnertime and Brenda would monopolize the phone, talking Grissom's ear off about the minutiae of her day. Late at night was Sara's turn to curl up with the cordless phone on her pillow.

"What are you doing tomorrow for Thanksgiving?" he asked. "Is it just going to be you and Brenda and a tofurkey?"

She chuckled softly. "No. The Chengs invited us to their house. I feel like this is my first really real Thanksgiving. I used to hate it growing up -- especially in college."

"Why?"

"Because everyone would be packing their duffle bags and going home. Even if they weren't going to their home...they were going to someone's home," Sara sighed, remembering the empty feeling of watching people make plans to celebrate a holiday she had never really gotten to enjoy.

"Why didn't you ever tag along, then? I'm sure someone would've invited you, had you asked."

"I did get invites. I just...I feared being asked why I wasn't going back to California. I didn't want to have to lie about my family. Or lack thereof. So I just blocked the holiday out. And every other holiday." When he didn't say anything, she began to nervously knead the comforter in her hands. "I guess that's why I'm so excited now," Sara continued, hoping to curb any pity he felt. "I'm really going to enjoy it this year. I just wish you were here, too."

"I wish I was there with you. And Brenda."

"Yeah."

"Next Thanksgiving," he said, mid-yawn. "Next year. Honey, I've gotta go to sleep. I've been awake since six A.M. my time. Hey...it's Thanksgiving in New York."

"Happy Thanksgiving in New York," she whispered, her head still hazy from his easy mention of next year.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

TBC...

A/N: I'm so going to finish this. Why? Because I just finished reading Harry Potter and oh my gosh, there's a story there I have to write.


	68. Chapter 68

Chapter 68

Thanksgiving turned out to be a sweet affair, and Sara enjoyed it immensely despite the fact that she had to go to work the next day.

"So where was Brenda if you were at work?" Grissom asked over the phone that night.

"She's actually at Norah's house now," Sara explained. "Her family has this tradition where they start decorating for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving, so Brenda spent the day there. And the next couple of nights," she added, her voice slightly breathy. "We'll have some time alone when you get back."

There was a beat and then she heard him murmur, "Good." Their conversation soon wandered back to the upcoming holiday and Grissom marveled at the swiftness with which New York got ready for Christmas. "All they need is the snow. Brenda would love it."

"Oh, she's bitterly disappointed we didn't get to go to New York this summer."

"She didn't seem that disappointed. She was more worried about your health than anything," Grissom countered.

"She's not mad at me or anything," Sara assured him. "But every now and then New York will come up in our conversations. She packed her little suitcase so she could go to Norah's house for the weekend and she was very wistful as she folded her clothes, sighing about how we got the suitcase for our trip to New York. She's hilarious. My little drama queen." They both laughed. "You know she's going to pick your brain about New York when you get back."

"She's already started on the phone."

Sara rolled her eyes. Brenda was nothing if not inquisitive. The girl spoke just a few words when they first met, and now…she had to smile at the change. "So…when are you getting in tomorrow? I want to pick you up."

"You really don't have to."

"I _want _to. When?" she insisted.

"Noon."

She was ready and waiting at the airport. Sara saw Grissom before he saw her. She could tell the moment he recognized her: his smile formed not only on his lips, but in his eyes. They seemed to sparkle when they came to rest on her. He leaned in for a kiss. "I missed you."

Sara smiled as her lips pressed against his. "I missed you, too," she said after pulling back. They started their walk to the car. "Are you hungry? I made some pasta salad last night -- there's lots of leftovers because Brenda ate at Norah's house."

He loaded his bags in the trunk and regarded her for a moment. "Sure."

She grinned widely as they drove back to her house. "It's so weird -- we've talked for hours on the phone while you were away, but I feel like we've been apart for so long."

"Me too."

When Grissom didn't elaborate any further, Sara chalked his sober demeanor up to jet lag and congratulated herself on remembering to stock up on his favorite chamomile tea. He could wind down with that and she could do his laundry for him while he relaxed; he probably didn't have a chance to wash his clothes in New York. She felt a secret domestic thrill at the thought of doing his laundry. They missed out on a lot of intimacy because their time alone together was severely limited, so something as simple and boring as handling his wash had her heart beating quickly. Pleased with her plan, Sara parked the car in her driveway and popped the trunk open.

Grissom furrowed his brows as he watched her begin to retrieve his bags. "I don't need everything," he told her. "Just my carry on. Brenda's presents are in here."

"I could do your laundry while you're here," she smiled, moving to hoist the suitcase out of the trunk.

His hand on her wrist stopped her. "Really. Don't."

She released the suitcase. "All right." Sara avoided his gaze as she closed the trunk and walked to the door. She couldn't figure out what had happened from the airport to the house that made his attitude change from pleasant to…she didn't know what. He didn't seem angry, but he wasn't smiling, either. She put the key in the lock and turned, reaching up with her left hand to push open the door only to have it thrust open from behind by Grissom. His arm was tight around her waist, and as her brain registered what was going on, his mouth brushed her earlobe.

"Upstairs, hmm?"

She dimly heard the front door close and his bag drop to the floor, but couldn't find her voice to answer him as his fingers skimmed under her top so she only nodded. Grissom's arms dropped from her body, one hand dipping down her back to thread a finger through a back belt loop as she placed her hand on the banister and took the first step. Sara felt the tug as she ascended the stairs. Somewhere between the airport and the car, her Grissom had a personality transplant, and while she was very aroused, confusion still fogged her brain. He never really initiated the sex. He was always a happy and very willing participant, but she was always the one to pounce. When they reached the landing, he enveloped her, his hands wending their way around her body and meeting up at the button of her jeans. Clever fingers easily began to work the button out of its hole. When he moved to the zipper tab, Grissom paused. She could sense he had lost some of his newfound nerve.

Placing a hand on his, she pushed it south until the zipper went down as far as it could go. Sara wanted to encourage, but she didn't want to take the lead. Not this time.

He guided her into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping his hands on her hips so she stayed standing. Grissom leaned in close and nudged her shirt up with his nose, lightly nipping at the skin of her belly before placing kisses around her navel. Sara let her head loll back and enjoyed the feel of his damp mouth and his big hands slowly kneading her flesh, easing down her jeans until they were slack around her thighs. She wanted to pounce, was ready to.

But she held back, letting him take his time.

And then he stopped.

Sara's eyes snapped open as she watched Grissom pull back from her body and rub his forehead. "What's the matter?"

He stood quickly, taking her by surprise. Grissom's hands circled her neck, cradling her jaw, while he watched her intently, silently. When she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off. "I…I thought of you every day -- every moment -- while I was away. I had probably the most successful week of my career," he breathed into her face, "but it was all so…so secondary. Part of me wishes I never told you I loved you so I could tell it to you now, so it would mean something."

"It always means something," she told him earnestly, leaning in to kiss him, but his hands stopped her.

"You were forbidden fruit to me for so long," he sighed. "And I know that, for years, if I would have just said yes, if I would have invited you to come home with me, you would have."

It was the plain truth. She didn't bother to deny it. She needed no wooing from him; never did. All she had ever wanted was to be granted entrance beyond the walls he had built to block humanity out.

"There was never a moment when I didn't want you," he continued. "And this week -- a week where everything I ever wanted professionally is mine for the taking -- all I could think about was you. I chose work over you for a long time, and when work was not an option for me anymore, I had you. And now work is…work doesn't compare."

Sara slowly brought her hands up to his wrists, pulling them to her lips so she could lightly kiss his palms. "I didn't believe in love until I met you," she confessed, looking down at his fingers instead of his eyes. "I had all these views about the world and my place in it and where I was going…love didn't factor in. You shattered all of that," she said, feeling her eyes grow moist. "And I love you for it. Even if…even if you never were able to choose me over work," Sara sniffed, meeting his gaze now, "I need to thank you for introducing me to love."

He wrapped his arms around her body, holding her as she buried her face in his neck. She could feel his steady heartbeat against her chest. It soothed her into a dreamy state where nothing but the smooth skin of his neck existed. Sara pursed her lips, kissing him softly. Grissom slackened his hold around her, moving his hands to her shoulders, rubbing lightly in small circles. Slowly, they undressed each other and climbed under the covers. While there was nothing truly new about their lovemaking, the experience took on a whole new meaning. That he came home from his week away more in love, more committed to their relationship, filled her heart, and when she climaxed, stiffening as she called his name out loud, that love seemed to explode, spilling every which way until all she saw were the stars in his eyes as he leaned down to kiss her once more.

TBC…


	69. Chapter 69

Chapter 69

They drove to the Oliver's house around five to pick Brenda up after her weekend of decorating. The plan was to pick the girl up and take her out to dinner. Neither Sara nor Grissom much felt like cooking. She gave him directions to Norah's house from the passenger seat and then dug her phone out of her bag to let Brenda know to get ready to leave.

"So make sure your stuff is packed and you've cleaned up after yourself."

"But you _have _to see what we did! You _have _to see the tree!" the girl exclaimed.

"Baby, Gil is here. We're going to go out and eat now," Sara explained.

"You guys have got to come! You've got to see this!"

There was little point in arguing. A thirty-something's plans did not trump preteen enthusiasm. Grissom pulled into the Oliver's long driveway which was now flanked with Christmas elves beckoning the vehicle forth towards the house. "Oh…my goodness," Sara exhaled.

"It's very…bright," Grissom offered.

Bright didn't begin to describe it. The sun was beginning to set, but one would never know it when faced with the twinkle lights that seemed to cover every square inch of the house's exterior. Vertical rows of alternating red and white ran across the large ranch-style home, mimicking a candy cane pattern. The roof was bedecked with angels and a massive Hollywood-type sign that read "Happy Holidays."

The two adults tentatively walked to the front door which was dressed up like a gift box. Before Sara could raise her hand and ring the bell, the door swung open to reveal two young girls buzzing with excitement. "You gotta see the tree, Mom!" Brenda said before noticing the person standing next to her mother. "Hey, Gil!" The children led them to the living room where they encountered a Redwood masquerading as a Douglas fir. Grissom and Sara craned their necks so their gazes could span the length of the tree. Apparently at the Oliver household, bigger meant better. Every needle seemed covered in tinsel, lights, and ornaments.

"Wow," Sara said.

"Is it like the one at Rockefeller Center, Gil?"

Grissom blinked at Brenda. "I didn't see it lit up. But this one is much, much prettier," he smiled. "Very excellent decorating."

"So you've seen their masterpiece?" Grissom and Sara turned to see Peggy Oliver as she walked into the room armed with an aerosol can. "Fake snow," she smiled, handing it to the girls. "You guys can't be leaving already? I'm cooking dinner!"

"Oh, no, we couldn't. You've had Brenda all weekend," Sara began, begging off.

"Don't be silly," Peggy said, shaking her head. "There's plenty of food. Tim's old business partner just had a bypass so he's visiting at the hospital -- probably sneaking Bob a cigar -- and Martin went home early because of a cold; I think he's going to stay home from school tomorrow. And John's not going to eat anything," she said, her words leaving her mouth in rapid fire. "You've got to stay."

"Uh…"

"And the girls can show you the rest of the decorations."

Grissom stared at Sara as Peggy left for the kitchen. "The rest?"

Brenda and Norah gave them the tour. Santa's workshop had nothing on the Oliver family. Every room had a theme and every theme was painstakingly brought to life. As the girls opened the door to the Polar Express-themed study, Norah flipped on the lights. "Oh, crap," she muttered. "I forgot John was in here."

Before either adult could comprehend what was going on, their ears registered wailing. In the far corner of the room -- on what Sara assumed was the faux train station deck -- was a small playpen with an even smaller child in it. Norah walked up onto the platform and heaved the baby out of the playpen. "Come on," she sighed, bouncing him slightly in an attempt to soothe. "I've gotta give him to my mom and then we'll turn on the trains."

Grissom raised his brows. "Is that your brother?"

"That's her nephew," Brenda piped up. "He's fourteen months old."

Sara nervously watched the ten-year-old coolly carry the child as they walked towards the kitchen to find Peggy. "Norah, do you need help holding him?"

"Nah, I've done it lots of times." They found Peggy elbow deep in cake frosting. "Mom, he's crying," Norah said, stating the obvious.

"Sweetie, can you hold on a minute.? I'm a mess."

"He's really heavy. And I think…he pooped."

"One second…"

"It's really starting to smell, Mom."

Peggy looked up at Sara, "Do you think you could take him and change his diaper?" she smiled. "His diaper bag is in the guest bedroom right across from the bathroom -- you'll recognize it right away. It's headquarters."

Norah thrust the child at Sara who positioned her hands under his armpits uncomfortably.

Peggy nodded towards the two girls. "You two -- set the table." She smiled again at Sara. "It's right across the bathroom. And work fast," she added. "Or you'll get sprayed."

Sara looked inquisitively at Grissom who just shrugged his shoulders in return. They walked to command central -- formerly known as the guest bedroom -- which was littered in their holiday plan of attack: lists of decorations, a blueprint of the house, and thousands of strands of extra lights filled the room like ammunition. Sara gingerly placed the child on the empty bed and looked around the room. "What's a diaper bag look like?"

"How should I know?"

"Find a bag with diapers in it," she told him. "I'm afraid to move. He might roll off the bed."

Grissom began searching the room. He peeked in the shopping bags at the foot of the bed -- "More tinsel," he said under his breath -- and then moved to the desk. "I don't see anything."

"On the doorknob," Sara exclaimed. "That blue bag with bears on it. That has to be it."

"We have a winner," he said, reading into the bag and drawing out a diaper which he then handed to Sara.

"Wait…isn't there other…equipment?" she asked, staring at the unfamiliar white contraption in front of her.

"Equipment?"

"Like, creams and stuff? And a washcloth to clean him or something? We don't use toilet paper, do we?"

Grissom began emptying out the contents of the diaper bag on the bed. "Um…something called Balmex. Looks creamy. Aha! Wipes! I think you clean him up with these."

They set the stuff aside and regarded the baby. "So…how do we get it open?" he asked, looking at her.

"Well, they're overalls. I guess we unbuckle them and then pull them off."

Grissom nodded. "Okay."

Sara began undoing the buckles and pushing the straps off the boys small shoulders. He remained still, but watched both adults with wariness, as if he could tell that neither really knew what they were doing. She then shimmied the pants down his body and tossed them on the side of the bed. "What's this…unitard deal?"

"I don't know. Wait…are those snaps at the bottom?"

"I think so." Sara unsnapped the maroon cotton that was secured over a very full diaper. "Alright, we're almost there. Okay…now what? Do I just peel off the diaper? Like underwear?"

Grissom cocked his head to the side. "I think…hold on…let me look at the unused one." He picked it up from off of the bed. "The sides have Velcro."

"Ahh…okay." Sara opened either side of the diaper and pulled the front down.

"Holy God!"

"Whoa!"

They both jumped back slightly at the foul odor and the baby started to whimper.

Grissom's arm was over his face, his nose buried in the inside of his elbow. "That's horrific."

"Yeah, I know," Sara said, pulling her shirt up over her face slightly to block the smell. "Well, there's no going back now. Where are the wipes?"

"Over there," Grissom said, his voice muffled against his arm.

Sara reached over to grab the wipes, causing her shirt to slip down and her nose to meet the pungent air once more. "Hold my nose," she told him.

"Excuse me?"

"Just…hold my nose while I do this."

It must've made for a funny sight: two adults standing over a helpless baby, one wincing as she wiped its bottom while the other pinching both of their noses shut to block the smell.

"Cream."

"What?"

"Give me the cream!" she barked. He gallantly let go of his own nose for a moment so he could hand her the tube. She squeezed what looked like greasy white toothpaste onto her finger and then regarded the little boy. "Where do I put it?"

"I don't know. Everywhere?" Grissom said, finally letting go of both of their noses now that the dirty diaper had been banished to the other side of the room.

"O…kay." Sara began to slather the cream on the child's lower half.

"I can't believe I'm watching you put your fingers on another pe--"

"Don't _even _finish that thought," she interrupted before retrieving another wipe to clean her hands. "All right, we're almost done. We just have to put the clean diaper on."

He picked up the clean diaper once more. "Well, we know how to dismantle it, so putting it together should be the same steps, but in reverse."

The process proved nowhere near that easy. They had the diaper in position when little John seemed to grow restless. He wriggled around the bed, rolling over onto his stomach in an attempt to crawl away from Grissom and Sara.

"You hold his top half down, and I'll deal with the bottom," Sara directed as she reached to pull the baby closer to them. Her eyes grew wide when she felt liquid begin to bathe her hands. "He's peeing!" she yelled, pulling back.

Grissom sighed. "Back to square one."

Sara shook her head. "I'm so glad my child is potty trained."

TBC…

A/N: Fluff of the worst kind! I wrote this late, late, late at night which means it wrote itself.


	70. Chapter 70

Chapter 70

"I thought there was no bodily fluid worse than saliva," Sara huffed as she walked out of the bathroom, her hands freshly washed. "I was wrong."

"To be fair," Grissom said, clutching the wriggling baby like a football, "she did warn us."

Within minutes, everyone was settled in the _Nutcracker Suite_-themed dining room, ready to eat. The baby was in his highchair, smiling and playing with a spoon. "I hope John didn't give you too much trouble," Peggy said as she put a platter of steamed broccoli by Norah's elbow.

Sara and Grissom smiled weakly.

"No trouble at all."

The girls had a fine time describing the steps it took to transform the room into a tribute to Tchaikovsky. Sara was beginning to see just how deep Brenda's newfound enthusiasm for Christmas ran. She peppered Grissom with questions about New York and the decorations there, if he took many pictures, and just how high the tree in Rockefeller Center was.

"I think on the news they said this one was eighty feet."

"Eighty feet?" Norah exclaimed. "That's, like…_huge_."

"How do they decorate it?" Brenda asked.

Grissom shrugged. "I don't know."

"Man, I want to see it," the girl said as she forked a piece of sweet potato and put it in her mouth.

"Bren, I think they show the lighting of the tree on TV," Sara supplied. "We'll watch it."

She seemed mildly placated, but her mother could tell this wasn't the last of the conversation. Looking around the Oliver's Christmas paradise, Sara knew that the simple Christmas decorations she had pictured for their first holiday as a family would need to be expanded.

But she had no plans to go up on the roof.

As Sara predicted, Brenda brought up their Christmas plans later on as she was tucked into bed. Sara smoothed the sheet over the girl's legs and sat on the edge of the bed. "We'll have a tree," she said. "And decorations."

"I was thinking of something else," Brenda said, leaning her head back on the pillow.

_Oh God, no reindeer_, Sara thought to herself. She feared the next words out of Brenda's mouth. Sara had little willpower when it came to her daughter. The urge to spoil was always strong. There was such joy in giving because Brenda never failed to appreciate gifts and that, in turn, upped the urge to spoil. She had been so ecstatic at Gil's small tokens he brought back from his trip that he had muttered under his breath later on to Sara that he should've gotten her more, though Sara had assured him the little girl was happy with everything.

She braced herself, visions of their house decked out in extreme Christmas paraphernalia in her head. "What are you thinking about, B?"

"When I was in the group home, we'd get Christmas gifts every year, and they were never what we wanted. The girls always got the same thing, and the boys always got the same thing, so you couldn't even really trade if you didn't like what you got," Brenda explained, sitting up in bed. "And I was thinking maybe we could – I know this is a lot of money," she added, "but you wouldn't have to buy me anything. I don't want anything for Christmas. But maybe we could ask the kids at my old group home what they want and we could get them presents."

Flabbergasted, Sara sat back slightly. "Wow."

"The night after Thanksgiving when Norah and I were going to sleep, she started talking about what she wants for Christmas. She wants a new saddle. And then she asked me what I wanted and I said I didn't know. And then I thought about it all night, because I never really _could_ ask for anything before," she said quickly, as if she wanted to say all that she had to before her mother could say the word 'No.' "And then I thought about the kids in my group home and I knew no one was asking them what they wanted. I've got everything I want right now. So…can we? Can we ask them what they want and then maybe get them presents? We can use what I have saved up from my allowance and I wouldn't ask for anything for Christmas for the rest of my _life_."

Speechless, Sara listened to her heart beat in her ears as her eyes began to cloud. "I, um…yes. Yes."

"Really?" she squealed, all former traces of sleepiness gone. Brenda swooped in for a hug and Sara was helpless to do anything but squeeze back. She rested her face on her daughter's head and felt the tears roll down her cheeks. Pure bliss enveloped her. Her child was sweet beyond belief, with a greater capacity for empathy than anyone she had ever known. Drunk on happiness, it took several moments for Sara to register the moistness leaking onto her shoulder. Alarm had her pulling back to look at a now sobbing Brenda.

"Honey? Honey, what is it?" she asked, holding the girl's shoulders tightly.

"I don't ever want to go back."

Confusion fogged Sara's brain. "Go back? You won't ever have to," she said urgently. "Honey, you know that, don't you?" She nodded, her face falling onto Sara's chest as she continued to weep. Sara wrapped her arms around her daughter. "I don't understand, baby. Please explain it to me. You're never going back there. You live here with me."

"I know," Brenda sniffled, her voice vibrating against Sara's sternum.

"Okay. Okay, so what's the matter?"

"If you didn't come and get me, I'd still be there."

"But you're here right now. That's all that matters," she whispered, trying to soothe the girl as best she could.

"But if you didn't adopt me, I'd still live there. If you didn't…" Brenda kept crying, grabbing fistfuls of her mother's shirt and squeezing as she held on. "I'd still be alone."

"So would I," Sara rasped. And a small part of her mind echoed, _So would Gil_. "You can't keep asking yourself 'What if?' All you can do is to do what you're doing. You want to help people this Christmas, and that's amazing. Do you think most ten-year-olds think like you do? Do you think most _adults_ think like you do?" Brenda lifted her head and shook it slightly. "Sometimes I think about it too: what if I didn't see you that day at the museum? What if I had actually been paying attention to whatever it was Gil was talking about instead of looking at you?" Brenda gave a small smile at that. "But it just makes me thankful that what happened happened, and that you're here with me and we're happy."

Brenda wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her nightgown and pursed her lips. "You're right." Sara reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a tissue, giving it to the girl to use in place of her sleeve. "My throat hurts."

"That's because you've been crying. You'll feel better in the morning."

She blew her nose and then balled up the tissue in her hands, tossing it clear across the room and into the wastebasket. "I've been practicing," she smiled, getting comfortable in the bed once again. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're very welcome. And thank you."

"For what?"

Sara shrugged. "For being so cool." She leaned down and kissed the girl's forehead. "Goodnight."

"'Night."

She waited several minutes until she was sure Brenda was asleep. Sara then made her way down the stairs where Grissom was waiting.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned. "You were up there for a long time."

She sighed, curling up next to him on the couch. "My kid is great."

He furrowed his brows. "What happened up there?"

"Brenda doesn't want any Christmas presents. She wants to get the kids in her old group home presents."

"That's very sweet of her."

"I know."

Grissom put his arm around her shoulders. "So you guys were hashing that out upstairs?"

"Well, we talked about that and we cried a little."

She could feel him tense up next to her. "Cried? About what?"

"In a nutshell…she's glad I adopted her."

"And that's why you were crying?" he asked, completely baffled.

"Yeah."

"Because you're happy?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "Why?"

She shrugged. "We're girls."

TBC…


	71. Chapter 71

Chapter 71

Sara went to work on Monday, excited to get back to her normal routine. She'd get to go home and have dinner with her two favorite people – something that hadn't happened in over a week. It struck her how something that would've seemed so mundane to her a year earlier was now so precious. Sara Sidle the workaholic hated anything that tore her away from her work. Sara Sidle the mom loved her job, but she loved her family even more. It was supremely odd to have that which was her first priority for so many years not be at the top of her list, and it was even odder for her not to mind it.

Her role as second-in-command on the day shift came with a responsibility she relished. There were people under her who she needed to train, to mold. They seemed so fresh, so young though they were not much younger than she was. It was a wonderful experience to take them to a crime scene and walk them through procedure – suddenly the standard hotel murders weren't so boring.

"Ah, ah, ah," Sara said after leading her team past the crime scene tape of a large suite at the Mandalay. "Look before you touch. What do you see?"

She felt a little like Grissom as they answered her questions and examined the crime scene in front of them. Her phone vibrated in her pocket as she assigned everyone different tasks. "And I want pictures of everything," she insisted, reaching for her cell and regarding the strange number before holding it to her ear. "Sara Sidle speaking."

"Hello, Mrs. Sidle, I'm Annette Jefferson. I'm the nurse at your daughter's school. I'm afraid Brenda has taken ill."

Sara could feel her eyes bulge as a gasp caught in her throat. She speedily made an exit into the hotel hallway. "Ill? What's wrong? What happened?"

"She's not feeling well: sore throat, a bit of a fever. It's going around," the nurse explained.

Sara exhaled loudly. "Okay."

"She's in the office, ready to be picked up."

"Right. I…oh God…um…" There was no way she could leave three rookies alone at a crime scene without supervision. "Can my boyfriend pick her up? I'm at work right now and he works from home, and I'm not going to be able to get away for a little bit and…"

"Sure thing, just tell me his name and he'll have to bring I.D. in order for us to release her into his care."

"Right, fine," Sara said, quickly giving her the information she needed before saying goodbye and dialing Grissom's number.

He answered her sweetly. "Hey, honey."

"Hey. Do you think you could…do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Brenda is sick."

"What? What's wrong?" She heard the worry in his voice and couldn't quite define her reaction to it.

"She's got a cold. Or a virus. Something. Anyway, she's sick and she needs to be picked up," Sara explained, the tone of her words low so they wouldn't carry in the hallway. "Could you pick her up from school? I'll try to get out of work early so I can take her to the doctor and –"

"I can do it. I can take her."

"Are…are you sure?"

"Yeah. Just tell me where to go and what to do and I'm there."

Sara hung up the phone two minutes later feeling more anxious than she did after learning Brenda was sick. It wasn't that she didn't trust Grissom. She trusted him implicitly. He might not know the ins and outs of raising a child, but he possessed common sense and he did care deeply for Brenda. What concerned Sara more than anything was the fact that her first reaction was to call Grissom for help. There had been no split-second of doubt, no wondering if he'd freeze up and then retreat. She trusted him to be there for her, to be there for her daughter.

And he had surpassed her expectations.

Grissom called from the doctor's office right as she returned, evidence in hand, to the lab. "We're in the waiting room," he told her. "The sick waiting room. They have two of them, apparently. Brenda's holding up alright. Do you want to talk to your mom?" he asked, addressing the girl who was probably sitting at his side. "Here's Brenda."

"Hey, baby!" Sara exclaimed. "How are you feeling?"

"Sick."

"It's your throat?"

"And my head," the girl answered glumly. "I feel gross."

"I'm going to be home early, okay? Do you want me to pick up anything special? Mexican food? Cupcakes from that bakery near the mall?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Wow, you really must be sick."

"The nurse says we have to go in now."

"Okay. Okay, honey. Gil's going to call me when you're done and I'll be home soon. Bye, baby," she said softly into the receiver.

"Bye, Mom."

Sara hung up the phone, wishing she was there in the sick waiting room with her daughter and Gil. She returned to work and her case, doing her best to muster up some enthusiasm so she could finish her tasks with her team before leaving a couple of hours early. Though Brenda said she didn't want any, Sara couldn't help but pick up a few cupcakes on the way home just in case the little girl felt like having a treat later on. She pushed open her front door and opened her mouth to call out for them before shutting it quickly, realizing that her daughter might be asleep. Brenda's book bag was discarded by the stairs and her prescription medication was sitting on the breakfast bar. Sara placed the cupcakes next to the medicine and quietly climbed the stairs. She knew Brenda was awake because she could dimly hear the sounds of the television in the distance.

As Sara walked down the hallway towards Brenda's room the smile on her face faded as the music from the movie registered.

"Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow…you're only a day away…"

She stood at Brenda's bedroom door. Her daughter was sitting up in bed, looking a little less pathetic than she had sounded earlier on the phone. Grissom was in her desk chair with a closed book in his lap. It was several seconds until they noticed Sara.

"Hey, Mom," Brenda croaked.

"Hey," Grissom smiled softly from his place by the desk.

Sara stiffly walked to Brenda's bed and gave the girl a hug. She fought the urge to grab the remote control and turn off the television.

"We're watching a movie," Brenda smiled. "_Annie_."

Eyebrows up, Sara nodded. "I see that." She swallowed, suddenly feeling sicker than Brenda looked. The credits rolled and the little red-haired orphan belted out the famous song and she could hear it echo in her ears, hear it echo twenty years back.

"Something wrong, Sara?"

"No. No, nothing. Nothing's wrong."

TBC…


	72. Chapter 72

A/N: Thanks to billiebeesaved for the recap!

Chapter 72

As the movie was replaced by the requisite commercials, Grissom gave Sara the rundown: "She's got a slight fever. The doctor prescribed some amoxicillan and we picked it up from the drugstore on the way home. She just took her second pill about a half hour ago," he explained.

Sara put her hand on Brenda's forehead. The girl's skin was warm to the touch. "Does your throat still hurt?"

Brenda nodded. "It's not as bad as it was, though. Martin has strep throat, too."

"I, uh, called your old social worker during my lunch break today. I told her about your idea to buy the kids in the group home presents. She said she'd get in contact with some people and they'd figure out a way to do it, maybe have the kids write letters to Santa and then we'd take them and go from there," Sara said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Sound good?"

"Yeah," Brenda answered, her eyelids beginning to droop slightly.

"Tired?"

"No."

"Liar," Sara smiled softly. "Go to sleep," she said, leaning in to kiss the top of the girl's head. "No school tomorrow. And I'm staying home from work."

Both adults got up to leave.

"Can you put on a movie?"

Sara nodded. "Sure. Which one?" she asked, going over to the shelf on top of Brenda's desk and searching through some of her DVDs. "Um…we've got two Harry Potter movies here. _The Incredibles_. _The Princess Bride_ -- ooh, Gil, you like that one, right?"

"It's funny," he supplied.

"Do we have _Annie_?" Brenda asked.

"Hmm?" Sara squeaked.

"We have a bunch of movies downstairs that I haven't watched yet. Is _Annie _one of them? I want to be able to watch it without all the commercials."

"No," Sara answered firmly.

"I could go check," Grissom offered.

"No, we don't have that movie," she insisted, smiling tightly. "How about _A Little Princess_? You love that one."

Brenda yawned. "All right."

Sara quickly put the movie in the DVD player and turned out the light. "I'll check on you in a bit," she whispered. They bid the girl goodnight and walked down the stairs. Sara gathered Brenda's book bag and put it on one of the stools that sat at the breakfast bar. "Thanks for doing this today."

"It's no problem."

She gave him a weak smile and then noticed the pastry box filled with cupcakes. "Do you want one? I'm going to put them in the fridge."

Grissom shook his head. "What was up with that?"

"Up with what?" she asked, making room on one of the refrigerator shelves.

"What was up with the movies upstairs?"

"Oh…nothing," she said.

"Is it the movie we were watching? It couldn't have been more than PG. I didn't think --"

"Grissom, it's nothing," Sara interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended it to be.

"It's not nothing," he argued.

She rubbed at her temple. After several moments, she took a few steps to stand next to him, leaning one elbow on the smooth granite surface of the breakfast bar. Casually, Sara picked up Brenda's prescription bottle and read the information on the white sticker before shaking it slightly to hear the pills rattle around in the plastic. "After my mother…after she…killed my father, the social worker put me with this couple -- they were nice. Kind of old, or at least they seemed old to me then. Their two kids were in college and I think they figured it'd be nice to take in a stray or something," she explained, her voice low and her gaze never leaving the prescription bottle. "They were sort of…amazed…that I was so quiet. I would go to school, do my homework…that's it. I got my report card about two weeks into my stay with them. All A's, of course."

"Of course."

She pursed her lips and tried not to smile. "They thought, as a reward, they'd take me to the movies. This was 1982."

"Okay."

"So we went to see _Annie_."

"Okay."

"A movie about an orphan. In an orphanage. Who gets mistreated while blindly, _moronically_, believing her family is going to magically get back together."

She looked at him now, his face contorted in a grimace as he watched her with his sad eyes. He shook his head slightly, but said nothing.

"They asked me if I wanted ice cream afterwards and I said no. They took me back to their house and I excused myself, saying I had to go take a shower. I cried and cried," she said, picturing her old self, a weeping mass under a stream of hot water. "When I heard that song, I freaked. I was a little kid again."

Grissom cocked his head to the side. "Do you know what Brenda said halfway through the movie?"

Sara tensed up. "What?"

"She said she wants a dog like the one Annie had, and would I talk you into letting her get one." Sara furrowed her brows and Grissom smiled. "Brenda doesn't think like you and I do."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Don't think you're the only one with a traumatic childhood theatrical experience."

Intrigued, she lifted a brow. "Are you going to elaborate?"

"My parents got divorced when I was five. My dad left," he corrected quickly. "And my mom…wasn't okay for a while after that. He left the last day of first grade. Jesus, first grade," Grissom sighed, rubbing his forehead vigorously as if he were warding off a migraine. "I felt so old. Half Brenda's age, and I felt old. My aunt came from Pasadena to stay with us that summer. My mom spent a lot of time in bed, crying. My aunt would make me breakfast every morning, give me a paper bag with a sandwich and some money to go down the boardwalk to the movies. They played all of the Disney cartoons in the summer for the kids -- Aunt Carol wouldn't let me see Spaghetti Westerns -- so I would walk there and see the ten o'clock movie, buy a soda and eat my lunch on one of the picnic benches there, and then I'd see another movie or two." He sighed, shaking his head. "All of the Disney movies seem to have a running theme."

"And that is?"

"Think about it: _Bambi _and _Dumbo _-- two characters torn away from their mothers early on. _Cinderella _and _Snow White_ -- two characters with no mothers who have to face off against evil stepmothers. _Pinocchio _-- no mother. That movie we watched with the orange fish, even! The fish had no mother. Harry Potter -- Brenda's literary hero -- is an orphan. The movie she's watching now," he exclaimed. "_A Little Princess_. No mom." Grissom exhaled loudly.

"They all end happily ever after," Sara pointed out.

"So does _Annie_. I was only five, but I knew something was not right with my mother," he continued. "And then I spent all of my time watching movies where the maternal presence was fleeting at best. I used to come home in the evening and I'd sneak into my mom's room just to watch her sleep while my aunt made dinner. Like I was afraid she'd disappear if I didn't keep my eyes on her."

Sara felt the tears begin to well up, but she held them back. It was surreal to think of Grissom as a vulnerable little boy, so out of control of his surroundings. She wished she could've gone back in time and scooped him up for a much-needed hug and reassure him that he'd be alright.

"When you were at work on the missing grad student case and I was with Brenda, we watched _Bambi_. Do you know what she said when Bambi's mother got shot?"

"What?" Sara whispered, her heart pounding in her chest.

"She said, 'The poor deer.' Do you know what she said five minutes later?" He didn't wait for an answer this time. "She said, 'Do you think my mom would let me get a rabbit?' Don't you see, Sara?"

She shook her head.

"She's just a kid. Brenda's just a regular kid. It's amazing. She's not fucked up. She's got every right to be, but she can watch the shit that warped us and she's totally fine with it. It's…it's…"

"Really great," Sara interjected, giving a watery chuckle.

"Yeah."

"I should probably go buy _Annie _now or something."

Grissom took her hand and led her to the couch. "Not now," he said pulling her into his lap. "Just sit with me."

Sara rested her head on his shoulder. It was nice to have someone to lean on.

TBC…

A/N #2: I began writing this fic before _Still Life_, which is why I neglected the canon fact that Grissom's dad died when he was nine. Sorry 'bout that.


	73. Chapter 73

A/N: There was some _Annie_ confusion and I just edited the chapter, but I just wanted to say that Grissom and Brenda are inititally watching it because it was airing on television (which is how I got the idea, frankly. I'm not creative) and then when Brenda wanted to watch it again, they couldn't because they didn't have a copy.

Chapter 73

Sara's day home from work was chiefly passed in Brenda's bedroom. One of the little girl's nightstands was cleared and moved down the side of the bed to act as a game table. They alternately played _Scrabble _and watched movies.

"Maybe this weekend we'll get a Christmas tree," Sara said as she added twenty-seven points to her score for the word 'monitor.'

"Really? Cool!"

"We'll need to go buy ornaments and a star or an angel or whatever because I don't have anything."

Brenda examined the letter tiles in front of her. "Well…what did you do for Christmas last year? And the year before that?"

Sara shrugged. "I didn't decorate. I was usually working on Christmas."

"Who gave you presents, then?"

"I, uh…usually didn't celebrate." It was a lie. She never celebrated. "Gil, uh…he got me a present." A textbook, but she wasn't going to elaborate. Brenda's face was etched with concern, so Sara quickly smiled, hoping to turn the tide of the conversation. "That was then. This is now. I'm really excited about this Christmas. This is like my first big Christmas with a tree and decorations."

"What about when you were growing up? What did your mom and dad do?"

The girl obviously wasn't going to let up. "Well…I remember one Christmas we had a tree, but it didn't really get decorated. I made paper dolls and put them on some of the branches." When Brenda looked down at her lap, unsure of what to say, Sara placed a hand on her daughter's knee and squeezed. "It sucks, Bren, but it's over. And I've got so much to be happy about now. Okay?" The girl pursed her lips and nodded. Sara smiled slyly. "Now hurry up and come up with a word. I'm kickin' your butt!"

They continued their fun, stopping only when Grissom arrived with takeout early that evening. "How's the patient?" he asked as he set the large brown paper shopping bag on the dining room table.

"I'm good," Brenda exclaimed, putting her fistful of utensils down so she could begin to distribute them at the three place settings.

They sat down together and began opening the cartons of Chinese food. As Sara forked some vegetable lo mein onto Brenda's plate, she heard her cell phone ring in the distance. "Oh, jeez," she sighed, passing the fork to Grissom so he could finish the job as she got up to answer her phone. "Sidle speaking," she sighed into the receiver.

"Sara, it's Catherine."

Brows furrowed, Sara cleared her throat. "What's up?"

"The hotel murder dayshift worked two days ago? You headed that one up?"

"Yeah," she said, remembering the case she had been working on when she got the call that Brenda was sick. "But I passed that off to Woo."

"Well, he passed it off to Wilson on my shift and Wilson is no longer an employee of the Las Vegas Crime Lab as of four o'clock this afternoon. He quit," Catherine explained, her voice equal parts exhausted and annoyed.

"Quit?"

"Won the lotto. Two million. He's on a plane right now to Maui and good riddance. So your case was passed on to me and I think we've got a serial on our hands. The M.O. of your killer fits two murders we've worked on Swing this fall," she said breathlessly. "I need you on this. I'm short-staffed and you're the one who supervised the collection of this evidence."

Sara squeezed her eyes shut. "All right. I'll work on it in the morning, I'm--"

"I need you on this now," Catherine interrupted. "We have to compare notes. If this is the same guy, we're in trouble. If it isn't then I want to rule this out now."

"I'll be there in a half an hour."

Sara hung up the phone. She knew what she had to do. "Guys…" she began as she entered the dining room, "I've got to go to work."

Though Brenda put up a small protest, Sara was on the road in five minutes. When she got to the lab, she made a beeline for Catherine's office. The door was shut and on it was a Post-It note covered in the blonde's swirly script: 'In layout room A. Disturb me and die.'

Sara smirked and made her way to the layout room. She knocked on the open door. "Are you armed?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "I've got your evidence here," she told her, gesturing to the cardboard box on the table. "You need to talk me through it. So far, it looks like each murder occurred in the morning -- strangulation with a belt. Each victim was discovered by hotel housekeeping after the front desk received an anonymous call about the odor emanating from the room."

"But the victim in my case -- he hadn't been dead more than a handful of hours. Not enough for the smell to disturb the people in the other rooms," Sara pointed out.

"Exactly. Someone is calling before they have reason to call," Catherine told her.

"Were you able to trace the calls?"

"Pre-paid cells," Catherine grumbled. "No dice."

"This guy, he wants attention," Sara deduced. "Tipping off the staff is part of his ritual. Have you checked surveillance? There was none in the hallway outside of my crime scene. Just the elevator. Woo was supposed to check into that."

"Yeah, well, he didn't. There were no cameras at my two crime scenes, either, save for the elevators. This guy scouted his locations well: all hotels nice enough to have a 24/7 front desk at your beck and call, but not so nice that they have cameras in the stairwells," Catherine noted.

"If he's getting off on the attention, he's not going to stop until this hits the news."

"And so far, he hasn't witnessed a public reaction because so far we've treated them like three separate incidents," Catherine said, continuing on Sara's train of thought.

"There has been a public reaction," Sara said quickly.

"What do you mean?"

"At my crime scene, we had to tape off the entire hall because the of the crowd that was starting to build," she explained. "There's your public reaction right there. It might not be the six o'clock news, but it's a start."

"Crime scene pictures," Catherine barked, reaching for the laptop to her right. She pulled up shots of the crowds from the three murders. "Let's see if we've got any repeat business."

They spent close to two hours analyzing the photos. "No one looks the same," Sara sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. She wanted to go home. She wanted to kiss her daughter goodnight. She wanted to sit on the couch next to Grissom and hold his hand.

"Wait a minute…"

Sara blinked and looked up at Catherine. "What?"

"Look at that ugly woman."

She leaned in towards the laptop. "What ugly woman?"

"That ugly woman who's really a man."

Sara zoned in on a strong, square jaw that was framed by feathered dark blonde hair. There was a hint of five-o'clock shadow on the chin. "That _is _a man."

They found him twice more in the other batches of photos: once as a slick-looking business man, and another time as a Willie Nelson look-alike. "We'll distribute these pictures to LVPD."

"All three of them? Why not just the one where he's playing the yuppie?"

"Because they've got to know what he's capable of," Catherine explained. "He might not make the prettiest woman, but there were weirder looking people in the crowd."

Sara nodded and watched as the other woman called the lead detective on the case and informed him of their discovery. It was a relief to get a break so soon. Sara felt slightly guilty that she had passed the case off earlier without a second thought. It was true that she had passed it to her boss and not some CSI Level 1, but it began as her case and it was rare that Sara didn't finish what she started. As those thoughts breezed through her mind, some other unfinished business was making itself known: her stomach began to rumble loudly, owing to the fact that all it was housing two Altoids and nothing more. She cursed herself, wishing she had at least taken the spring roll Grissom had tried to push on her as she left.

"I hope that's your stomach," Catherine murmured.

"I haven't eaten," Sara sighed.

"Come on, let's go to a diner. My treat. We can get something to eat while we wait on the police."

The two women grabbed their jackets and walked to the parking lot. Sara climbed in the passenger seat of Catherine's SUV and buckled up, visions of veggie burgers and giant, crispy salads swimming in her head, making her mouth water.

Catherine got in next to her and turned her head, grinning like a cat. "So…how's Grissom?"

TBC…


	74. Chapter 74

Chapter 74

Sara gaped at Catherine. "I…I…"

"You, you," the blonde laughed as she started the car.

"Brass?"

Catherine nodded. "But before you rip him a new asshole, he didn't really have a choice. I threatened to go check on Grissom, and Jim told me not to worry -- that he was in good hands."

Sara squirmed, uncomfortable. "Okay."

They drove to a fifties-themed diner that was close by the lab. "So…how is Grissom? Last time I saw him he was in rough shape."

"He's fine now," Sara answered stiffly. "His book is going really well and he's happy."

Catherine laughed as she pulled into the parking lot. "Well, don't talk my ear off! I don't need all the dirty details." Both women got out of the car and walked through the chrome double doors of the diner.

"We're both very happy," Sara confessed, feeling a rush of heat flood her cheeks.

The hostess sat them down at a small booth and Catherine cocked an eyebrow. "You're not going to elaborate, are you?"

"Well…it's just…it's really simple and complicated at the same time. We've known each other for so long, which can be a positive and a negative," Sara explained, playing with the corners of her laminated menu. "We have this long history and sometimes it's great, because we understand each other on a lot of levels. And other times, it can be a roadblock, because it's a decade of _not _being together, so…being together can be an adjustment. He's so sweet, though," she said, smiling to herself as she looked down at the tabletop. "He's great with Brenda and--"

"Who?"

Eyes wide, Sara looked up at Catherine. "Oh…so…Brass didn't tell you about…oh. Okay." She had to start at the beginning. "Uh…last Spring I began mentoring -- do you remember the Collins murders? Back in 2000?"

Catherine's eyes searched Sara's face as she tried to recall the details. "The one with the father…the blood spatter…the buffalo," she said. "Four dead: mother, father, two sons. The teenage daughter had her boyfriend do it and then there was--"

"Brenda."

"Yeah," Catherine breathed.

"I adopted her."

"Oh."

Sara nodded, feeling immensely awkward. "Yeah."

"Well, congratulations," Catherine said. A smile graced her lips but she was still obviously shocked. "So…wow. How…how is she? Is she okay, I mean, with everything…"

"Yeah, she's fine. She's doing really well, actually. Grissom is with her."

"Oh, so you two both--"

"No, just me," Sara interrupted, correcting Catherine's assumption that Grissom had adopted Brenda as well. "I adopted her in May and towards the end of the summer, Grissom…became a part of our lives." There was no other way to put it.

"So…Grissom is babysitting?"

"Yeah."

Catherine let out a laugh, and Sara soon followed. "Wow, so you're a single mom in the dating world. Welcome to the club."

"Thanks," she smiled, feeling herself grow more comfortable with each passing minute. "Brenda doesn't exactly know what's going on, though. To her, Gil is just another person to help her with her homework and listen to her practice on her keyboard."

"So, he's over your house a lot?"

"Yeah, every day. We eat together, we watch _Jeopardy_ and help Brenda with her homework every night. It's the kind of routine I never expected to have, and I don't think Grissom expected it, either, but here we are. He's so amazing," Sara gushed, blushing a bit. "He's so great with her. It's…thrilling to see that they've built their own relationship that exists apart from me."

"You don't think she knows that Grissom is your boyfriend?" Catherine asked, pursing her lips. "Kids are smart."

"Well…she asked in the beginning, before anything was going on, and I told her no. And since then…" Sara shrugged. "I think she just sees him as another member of her fan club. All of our time together is about her, so it's not like we go off and have dates or he spends the night or anything."

"But…if he doesn't spend the night, how do you--"

"We make time," Sara answered quickly, shifting in her seat. She didn't want give details about their sex life. That Catherine knew they had one was enough.

"Well, good for you guys," Catherine said, leaning back against the padded booth. "After I first broke up with Eddie, I thought Lindsey was too young to meet any man I went out with -- and they weren't exactly prizes, so more than her age factored into it -- but then once Eddie died I just…I couldn't bring any man home to meet her."

"But she knew you dated?"

The blonde made a face. "I work weird hours. I'm not supposed to be home at night, for the most part. So when I do get a night off and use it to go on a date or go to a bar or whatever, it doesn't really break the routine. It'd be different if I worked days and was home every night and then she'd notice me not being there." She shrugged. "Maybe if I met a guy worth introducing to Lindsey, I'd introduce him to her."

Sara opened her mouth to speak, but then the waitress sidled up to the table to take their orders. When the woman left, they continued their conversation.

"I guess I just have a type," Catherine sighed. "I'm attracted to trouble. Even Eddie…he was trouble. Then again, I was trouble when we met, too," she chuckled. "My tastes are sort of starting to change, I think, now that Lindsey is entering her teen years."

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

"'Boys that are friends.' That's what she calls them," Catherine clarified. "She had to do this group project in English with two boys and they worked on it at my house one weekend. Quentin and Daniel. Now, Daniel is the cool one; he rides a little motorized bike," she said, rolling her eyes. "He gets detention, bad grades…exactly the kind of guy I would've _loved _back in high school. Lindsey thinks he's the living end. And then there's this other kid, Quentin. Nerd. Absolute adorable nerd in a David Phillips way. He reminds me of David. Very sweet, calls me Mrs. Willows, tells me I have a lovely home."

"Aw."

"I know. I'd love it if Lindsey came home from school one day and told me Quentin was taking her to the movies. But I know she's sweet on Daniel. Nothing good is going to come of it, and as I was trying to explain this all to her, I realized that I make the same mistakes," she sighed. "I just hope it doesn't take Lindsey going through this same scenario with her own daughter one day for her to realize it for herself."

Sara smiled. "So you're saying you should date a nerd?"

"Well, it worked for you," Catherine laughed. "Man, I've been in the game for six years and I haven't figured it out. You're a single mom for less than six months and you're set."

Sara shook her head. "It's not about figuring it out, really. I mean…things just didn't magically fall into place. It took ten years. Grissom and I have been…well…"

"Did you guys date before you came to Vegas?"

"No," Sara shook her head forcefully. "Do you think he would've invited me to stay if we had a really serious relationship? I think the attraction was always there, but the distance between us sort of…it was a roadblock. And then suddenly we were living in the same city and I think there was some expectation on my part but he…froze. And so we've had years of just dealing with that. It hasn't been easy. It feels easy now," she said thoughtfully, "but I think that might be because it was so hard before. The future is daunting, though."

"I thought you said thingswere going really well."

"They are. Now, they are. But there's going to come a time when our little routine isn't going to be enough -- at least for me. There's going to come a time when I'm going to have to be honest with my daughter. She deserves to see me in a fully functioning relationship just so she can know what one looks like, because she really hasn't had any good examples," Sara sighed, inwardly cringing at the mention of Brenda's past.

Catherine furrowed her brow. "But from what you were saying…it seems like Grissom is up for it."

"It seems so, but…I wouldn't know."

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Because…" Sara began. "I don't know. This is the guy that flatly refused to date me for years. For years. I don't want to get into all of it, but was very intense and very…he was in charge of the pace, let's just say. If he took a step forward, I was ready and waiting to go with him, but there were more steps backwards than forwards for a long time. And so I've learned to not expect a lot, and not ask for a lot. But the thing is, if we were to end up together -- I mean long-term -- it would be asking…the most."

"How do you mean?"

"Brenda…she doesn't have a father. And as far as I'm concerned, she never did," Sara said quickly. "Any man I make a commitment to, for all intents and purposes, he will be her father. He will have to fill that role: he will get the Father's Day presents, he will walk her down the aisle when she gets married…and Grissom…" Sara sighed. "Looking at him now with Brenda, I see that he's capable of fulfilling that role. Not only that, he'd do a really great job. It's just…all those years of him conditioning me to expect the least from him is making it _so hard _for me to ask it of him. And also…it has to be something he does of his own volition. There's no going halfway with this."

Catherine tilted her head to the side. "Has he given any indication as what he wants for the future? I mean, has he said anything to that nature?"

"Just…little things. Like, he'll mention next year's Thanksgiving, as if he's absolutely certain we'll still be together. I really do think he expects us to be together, I just don't know where Brenda factors in in his plans."

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe he's waiting on _you _to bring the subject up?"

"Me?"

"Yeah," Catherine nodded. "Brenda is your daughter. Wouldn't it be rational of him to expect you to be the one to determine how much of a place he can have in her life?"

"I guess…"

"Gil is nothing if not rational. He's probably just waiting on you to introduce the topic. He'd probably think it…impertinent to bring it up himself, like he's overstepping the bounds."

Sara rubbed her temples and groaned. "Why does this have to be so complicated?"

Catherine smiled at her. "It's life."

TBC…


	75. Chapter 75

A/N: I am not responsible for injuries occurring as a result of this fluff.

Chapter 75

"Catherine knows about us."

She had plunked down on the couch next to his sleeping form, jostling him awake. He blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"She knows. I asked her not to say anything."

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Grissom shook his head. "I don't understand. How did she find out?"

Sara sighed. "Brass. Catherine had been worried about you. She told him she was going to check on you, and he told her not to and…well, you can guess the rest."

"What…was her reaction?"

"She said she was happy for us."

Grissom furrowed his brow. "Do you believe her?"

Sara turned to face him, giving him a half-smile. "Yeah, I do. We had a nice talk."

"About?"

"How awesome you are in the sack." When his eyes widened, she let out a laugh. "Relax. We didn't get into that area. We talked about kids and motherhood and stuff like that."

He exhaled. "All right."

"So, how's Brenda?"

"She's doing okay. Her throat doesn't hurt anymore; no fever to speak of. I can stay here with her tomorrow if you don't want her send her to school."

Sara leaned in to kiss his cheek. "That is a very sweet offer, but I think she's going to go stir crazy if she has to stay home another day. So," she said, sitting back against the cushions, "are you free this weekend?"

"I'm free every weekend," he laughed.

"How knowledgeable are you in the area of Christmas decorations?"

"Not very."

"Well, 'not very' is more advanced than me," she smiled. "I'm going to need all the help I can get. I don't know the first thing about preparing for the holiday."

"Count me in," he nodded. "Not that I'm going to be that helpful. I haven't put up a tree since I was seventeen. After I went to college, my mom didn't bother. She just set her angel tree-topper on the dining room table."

"Shit, we need an angel, too. And ornaments," Sara added. "I forgot about that stuff. Seriously, I have nothing. We're starting from scratch here."

"All in good time," he told her, patting her knee. "Brenda doesn't expect a Christmas wonderland."

"I know," she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.

That weekend when they perused the local Target for holiday paraphernalia, Sara lagged behind Brenda and Grissom, feeling a little bit overwhelmed. Grissom pushed the cart while Brenda scouted the aisles for things she liked, turning to her mother every so often with a "Mom, can we get this?" look, which was almost always followed by a nod. The girl would toss said object in the cart and proceed to hunt down the next Christmas item she couldn't live without. Sara felt completely out of her element. It was daunting to finally begin participating in a tradition she had gone out of her way to avoid for decades. She had never had so much as a lick of a candy cane, and now their cart housed three boxes of the sugary confections.

"Tree stand," Grissom said as they arrived at a stack of green iron contraptions that looked more suitable for torture than for celebratory purposes.

Brenda loaded the fanciest-looking tree stand into the cart before getting lost in the selection of ornaments. Grissom leaned over to Sara once they were out of the little girl's earshot and placed a comforting hand on her back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," she answered, summoning a big, fake smile. When he made a face, she pursed her lips in guilt. "This is all very new to me.

"Grinch.

"Hey," she laughed. "I may not know much, but I know that was an insult." She playfully punched his arm.

Grissom winked at her and reached over to a nearby shelf, plucking a bright red Santa hat and securing it on her head. "To get you in the mood," he explained, smiling at her as she moved to take it off.

"Hey, Bren," Grissom called out. When the girl looked up at him, he nodded to Sara. "Don't you think Mom looks really good in the hat?"

Brenda smiled wildly, obviously high on the excitement. "So cool!" she said, giving the thumbs up as best she could with an armful of ornaments. Sara rolled her eyes and left the hat on.

"You are so going to make this up to me if you ever want to get laid again," she muttered to Grissom under her breath.

"That's an empty threat, my dear, as plain as the hat on your head. It put a smile on Brenda's face," he argued genially, his hand still on her back, moving in slow circles. "Isn't that worth a little public humiliation?"

Sara begrudgingly agreed, sighing to herself as her eyes scanned the shelves nearby for more Christmas junk, her face lighting up the moment her gaze fell upon…

"Reindeer antlers," she cried out in victory, grabbing them and turning to Grissom. "What's a little public humiliation worth to you?"

TBC…


	76. Chapter 76

Chapter 76

When decorating with a ten-year-old, more is more. Sara learned this as she strung the twelfth set of lights through the branches of their sweet smelling, recently purchased Blue Spruce. It had been Grissom's suggestion to start with the lights, and while she didn't understand why the order of decorations mattered at first, she was beginning to see that threading lights through ornament-strewn branches would've been even harder than trying to weave them through naked branches. Dealing with the occasional sharp pinch of the needles was difficult enough.

Once the lights were on, Brenda grabbed an ornament and then looked to Grissom. "What do I do now?"

He laughed. "You just put it on. There's no order to it. Put each ornament where you'd like it to be."

The three of them began randomly assigning branches to the ornaments Brenda had picked earlier that day. The little girl had an eclectic, odd taste, so there was no real theme: angels, stars, jolly looking Santas and elves. And animals. Brenda seemed to want all of Noah's Arc on their tree and Sara had to smile as she hung a sequined zebra up high near the top.

Grissom reached into a nearby shopping bag and pulled out the star for the top. "Brenda, why don't you do the honors?" He handed her the star and then hoisted her up so she could fit the glittery finial on the topmost branch. After he set her back down on the floor, they stood back to admire their handiwork. "It looks amazing," he commented. "Good job picking the ornaments, Brenda."

"Excellent," Sara smile. "What's next?"

"The wreath!"

They slowly began to distribute the rest of the decorations around the house: a carved wooden Santa by the telephone, a wreath on the front door, an evergreen candle centerpiece on the dining room table. It was nicely understated, something Sara could appreciate. This was her first real Christmas, and she didn't want to go to extremes. She was very glad Brenda was happy with their simple decorations.

"So what do we do next?" Brenda sighed, plopping down on the couch in the living room.

Sara cocked an eyebrow and walked over to a nearby end table where she had placed her purse. She reached in and pulled out a folded manila envelope. "These are the letters from the kids at your old group home," she said, handing Brenda the package. "Nineteen letters."

The girl opened the envelope and grabbed the first letter. "'Dear Santa,'" she read, "'I would like an iPod for Christmas and a remote control dinosaur and ninja turtles.' Um…okay." Brenda handed the letter to her mother. "What's an iPod?"

Sara scanned the letter, frowning. "It's like a walkman, only you put songs on it with your computer."

Brenda pulled another letter from the envelope. "This kid wants an iPod, too. And a suitcase. I guess for when she moves from place to place. Some people have to use garbage bags."

Grissom grimaced and then reached for another letter. "No iPod for this one. He wants Harry Potter stuff."

Sara furrowed her brow. "What kind of stuff?"

Grissom shrugged. "He just wrote 'stuff.'"

Brenda scanned the rest. "Two more want iPods. The others want toys, I think," she said as she looked through the folded loose-leaf paper. "And the last one…" Brenda's eyes followed the words on the page solemnly. Seconds later, she dropped it onto the couch and left the room. Both adults looked at each other in shock as they heard her footsteps bound up the stairs.

Grissom took the fallen piece of paper from the couch cushion and looked at it. His face fell.

"What is it?" Sara breathed, her heart thumping loudly.

"'Dear Santa,'" Grissom read, "'Please give me my family back.'"

"Oh, God." She put her face in her hands and sighed. Without another word, she turned on her heels and walked towards the stairs, holding her breath as she ascended. Sara found Brenda on her bed laying on her side with her back towards the door. "Bren?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Honey…" she whispered softly as she sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Christmas sucks."

"Don't say that, sweetheart--"

"It does." After a moment of silence, the girl shrugged off her mother's comforting hand that rest on her back. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Brenda, we can't fix the world. We can't. You are doing more than your part and you're just ten years old."

The girl buried her face in her pillow. "I know what it's like to not have a family."

"So do I."

"I want to be alone now," Brenda huffed, though Sara could sense an undertone of tears about to fall.

"All right," she said, getting up off of the bed. "I'll be downstairs."

Sara found Grissom on the couch, staring at the letter. "I asked Santa for the same thing when I was five."

"You did?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Yeah. It's not that I really missed my father that much. He was always working, always away. I don't think I was the son he wanted. But I missed…I missed the idea of him. I missed his carton of cigarettes in the pantry next to my cereal. I missed his undershirts being dried on the clothesline in the backyard. The thousand little things you don't notice about a person until they're gone."

Sara sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. "What am I going to do with this kid?"

"Brenda?" he asked. "Or the little boy who wrote the letter? Juan Santos," he said, reading the neat crayon penmanship at the bottom of the letter.

"Both kids. What am I going to do about this?" She pressed her lips together, feeling real pain for the little boy. "I don't have a magic wand I can wave to make this all better. How do you give someone their family back?"

Grissom shrugged. "I think the first question to ask is where did his family go?"

"I have the social worker's number." Sara looked at her watch. "It's five-thirty. Should I call?"

"It's up to you."

Sara sighed and found her cell phone. She scanned the contact list for Beth Reynolds. "The last time I did this, I ended up with a kid," she mumbled as she located the phone number. After greeting the woman, Sara quickly launched into the dynamics of her current situation, inquiring after Juan Santos. "He asked for his family back in his letter. I know the rules restrict you from telling me everything, but…I need to know how to handle this. Did his family die, or--"

"No. No, Juan has an older sister and a younger sister in another group home," Beth informed her. "I'm giving you this information as a fellow city employee, understood?"

Sara got the message. "Understood."

"Let me see if I can remember the details" she continued. "Juan's mother left the family, so it was just the father and the three kids. The father is a dishwasher at one of the casino buffets. Three kids on one minimum wage salary. It's not like no one has done it before -- hell, my mom did it -- but the kids have terrible asthma. Terrible. I've seen Juan's younger sister have an attack. It was just awful. We had to rush her to the hospital. Anyway, he couldn't afford the medical care so the poor man had to put them in state custody. It's so sad," Beth sighed. "He visits them at least twice a week -- which is better than most kids in the system have it. He says he's saving up to buy them a house, but Lord knows when that will happen. It's a sad story."

"Yeah." The women soon said their goodbyes and Sara numbly closed her cell. She relayed the information to Grissom. "I don't know what to do."

"You should probably talk to Brenda."

"She won't talk to me."

"She will eventually," he assured her gently. "I'm going to go," he said, hoisting himself off of the couch.

"You don't have to--"

Grissom held up a hand. "You two should be alone to talk things over." He leaned down to give her a small kiss. "Things will be fine. I promise."

TBC…


	77. Chapter 77

Chapter 77

Sara walked back up the stairs slowly, as if she were going to meet her executioner. There were so many occasions during her limited time as a mother when she felt clueless as to what to do, but the current dilemma she was facing seemed to be more insurmountable because the problem didn't deal directly with her own child.

She knew she could give Brenda a more child-friendly version of the explanation her own mother had given her after a neighborhood cat got run over: "Shit happens," Laura Sidle had said to a young Sara as they stood on the curb, watching the flies gather on the blood-stained calico fur. "Shit happens." It was a motto Sara regretfully used some times at work to desensitize herself to the horrors she saw on a daily basis. "Shit happens." And it was always her mother's voice that echoed in her head. "Shit happens. Deal with it." No. No, that wasn't good enough for Brenda. And it wasn't ever good enough for Sara, either.

Brenda was where she left her, crumpled in the corner of her bed. Sara could feel her heart split in two at the sight. It physically hurt to see the girl in pain.

She knocked on the open door and waited for an answer. When none came, she took a tentative step inside. "Bren…"

The girl was silent. Sara pulled the nearby desk chair up close to the bed and sat down so she was facing Brenda. "I know you're upset. And you know what? I'm really proud of you for being upset."

Brenda lifted her head from her pillow, her red-rimmed eyes meeting Sara's sober stare. "Why?" she asked, her voice rough with emotion.

"Because I think there are a lot of people who…well, what I'm trying to say is that…this…this hurts you. And it hurts you because you can feel it. So many people would read that little boy's letter and be sad for a couple of minutes and then be thankful it's not them and go on with their day. But you…you hurt. You've got such a good heart, Brenda," Sara said, feeling tears spring to her eyes. "I'm so proud of that. We'll figure some way to answer that letter -- not in the way he's hoping because that's not in our power, but…I don't know. We will try to help." She proceeded to explain a little bit about Juan's situation.

"So…he has someone that loves him?"

"He does."

"Good," the girl sighed, laying her head back down on her pillow. She looked up at the ceiling contemplatively. "There were some nights back when I was at the group home…I used to wonder, _If I disappeared, would anyone really notice?_ And if they did notice…would they miss me? You know when I stopped wondering those things?"

Sara swallowed the lump in her throat. "When?"

"About…two chapters into _Little Women_. I knew that if I disappeared, you'd notice."

"Of course I would."

"Did you ever feel that way? That no one would notice you if you disappeared?"

Sara smiled sadly. "Yeah."

"When you were a kid?"

She nodded. "And even past that."

Brenda sat up, a look of concern on her face. "When did it stop for you? When did you stop feeling that."

"Well," Sara shrugged, "it was sort of off and on as I grew up. There were times when I'd start to feel that, but…uh…at my worst moments, I would remember I had Gil. And that he always cared about me." She knew she was walking a fine line, and that had Brenda not been so preoccupied with Juan Santos and his letter, a barrage of questions would be flying her way, and they'd be all about Grissom.

But as it was, Brenda seemed satisfied with her answer as she leaned back on her pillows, her eyelids beginning to droop slightly. "It's good you had him. I'm glad you had him. And now you have me."

Sara nodded. "Now I have both of you."

The tears had made Brenda tired, and rather than force her to get up and change into pajamas and brush her teeth, Sara decided to just let her sleep. She pulled the comforter up over the girl and left the room, relieved that she had at least been able soothe Brenda and stop her from crying. They'd have to figure out exactly what to do with Juan Santos soon.

She shuffled into her bedroom and got ready for bed. As she climbed underneath the covers, Sara remembered Grissom and his speedy exit earlier that night. He had left them alone so they could work things out and she wanted to let him know that, while the problem wasn't solved, Brenda had stopped crying.

Sara reached for the phone on her nightstand and dialed his number. He answered on the second ring. "Sara?"

"Hey. I just wanted to tell you that Brenda is doing better."

"That's great, sweetheart."

"Yeah," Sara sighed into the receiver.

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked, obviously concerned.

She traced the pattern on the sheets with a finger. "I think I get lulled into thinking that things are going well, and then something like that letter will happen and it will hit me that she's still so…entrenched."

"Entrenched in what?"

"Old fears, I think. I mean, I'm so happy that she's a sensitive, caring kid. But…I don't think she's completely out of that world yet."

"Are you?"

Sara blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Are you out of that world yet?"

She thought for a moment, cataloguing the residual fears that had faded with the years, but were still present in the back of her mind. In her head she could hear her mother's voice: _Shit happens_. "I…"

"You've had Brenda for six months now," Grissom explained. "You can't erase ten years in six months, Sara. I don't think you can erase ten years, period."

"It's not that I want to erase it…"

"You do," he said gently. "You do because you love her and it hurts you to see her cry."

"Maybe I do want to erase it. It's not wrong of me to try to want to--"

"Of course it's not," he interrupted, assuaging any doubt that he was judging her harshly. "You're her mom. Mothers do what's best for their children." There was a slight pause and then he continued. "You can't erase what she's lived through. You can build on it."

Sara exhaled, closing her eyes. "That's what I'm trying to do."

"It's working."

"Yeah, but look what happened today--"

"It's working."

TBC…


	78. Chapter 78

Chapter 78

He called her at work the next day, about an hour before shift ended.

"It's taken care of," Grissom said quickly, his voice uncharacteristically flustered.

"What is?" she asked, immediately concerned as she took a seat in her desk chair.

"The boy -- Juan Santos."

"What about him?"

"I got his father a job."

Sara sat back in her chair and exhaled. "Excuse me?"

He cleared his throat. "When I left your house last night, I called the caseworker. She gave me some more information on the case. Julio Santos works at the Luxor as a dishwasher."

"Yeah…"

"I called in a favor. Julio used to be a pastry chef in Mexico before he brought family to Vegas. He tried to get a job cooking, but his English wasn't so great. He's up to speed now -- has been taking classes and everything."

Sara blinked. "And so they gave him a job? On your recommendation alone?"

"Okay, so I called in a _few _favors. The job comes with medical insurance for his kids and they're letting them all stay in one of the suites until he's able to find a place," he explained.

She pursed her lips, half amused, half stunned. "Just a few favors, huh?"

"Okay, a lot," he said sheepishly. "I might be writing the hotel manager's daughter a glowing recommendation letter so she'll get accepted to Princeton. The head of admissions there is a friend of mine from Minnesota."

"Wow."

"Yeah," he breathed.

"So…Julio Santos has a great job now?"

"Yeah."

"And his kids have great medical coverage?"

Grissom coughed. "Yes. Yes, that was part of the deal."

"And they have a nice place to live?"

"Well, I haven't seen the suite or anything, but I was assured it was very nice, and --"

Sara stopped him. "You pretty much gave Juan Santos everything he asked for." There was silence on the other line. She didn't know how it was possible, but she could _feel _Grissom's face grow red. "Gil?"

"Hmm?"

"You're Santa Claus!" she laughed.

"All I need is to grow the beard back," he said genially.

"That was so amazing of you," she said warmly into the receiver. "I mean it. That you…made everything better. I can't even put into words…" Sara's throat tightened with emotion. "You've got a knack for solving problems, you know that?"

"I've heard."

"It's Monday, so Bren doesn't have ballet or piano practice. I was thinking that maybe we'd try to get some of the shopping done for those Christmas letters…are you up for it?" she asked, twirling the cord of the phone in her fingers.

"Sure."

Sara smiled just as her eye caught a shadow at her doorway. She looked up to see Catherine give her a short wave.

"Got a minute?"

Sara nodded and then turned into the receiver. "Hey, I've gotta go. I'll see you later."

"Someone in the room?" His voice was so full of humor she had to smile.

"Uh-huh."

"Figured. Bye, Sara."

"Goodbye," she said quickly before hanging up the phone to address Catherine. "What's up?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. "How's Gil?"

Sara pressed her lips together primly in an attempt to hide a smile. She failed miserably. "He's amazing, actually."

"Right," she said, plopping down in the chair in front of Sara's desk. "I'm here to update you on your old case -- the hotel murderer."

"Any solid leads?"

"Every hotel, motel, and RV park within eighty miles of the city is on alert for this dude. We're not releasing his picture to the media yet because that'll probably just get him off more."

"Makes sense."

Catherine smiled. "I know." She stretched in her chair. "So how are things in paradise?"

"Paradise is fine," she grinned. "We're going Christmas shopping today."

"Spare me the details!" Catherine exclaimed. "I went on a date last week and the guy conveniently forgot his wallet. And then he grabbed my boobs while we were waiting for the valet to bring the car around."

"Ooh," Sara cringed. "Not good."

"I know."

"How's Lindsey doing?"

"Good. She's good. Studying for the PSATs. We're getting brochures in the mail for colleges. It's making me feel old," Catherine cringed. At Sara's smile, the blonde cocked an eyebrow. "Don't go there. You'll be in my shoes soon enough."

"Don't remind me. My kid already has a Harvard sweatshirt."

"Like mother, like daughter?" Catherine smiled.

Sara couldn't help it: she grinned.

And she continued grinning as she drove to a local Target with Grissom and Brenda in tow. He made no mention of Juan Santos, and Sara didn't want to steal his thunder, but she had to wonder if he planned on letting the girl in on his good deed at all. They walked through the aisles, each adult pushing a cart which they slowly filled with things from the list.

"Are we getting them iPods?" Brenda asked as they came upon the electronics section. "A lot of them asked for iPods."

"Bren," Sara sighed, "you need to have a computer in order to put music on an iPod. And then you need to pay for that music you put on the iPod. I'm sorry, hon…"

Brenda nodded and then walked ahead to the next nearby display. Sara leaned close to Grissom and whispered, "Now might be a good time to tell her about Juan Santos."

"Now? You sure?"

"Yeah, I think she could use the good news."

"Why don't you tell her?"

Sara shook her head. "Nope. You do it."

Grissom bit his lip. "All right. Hey, Bren," he called out, getting the little girl's attention. The two adults pushed their carts up next to her. "Do you remember the letter from the little boy…the one that--"

"I remember."

"He's back with his dad and his sisters," Grissom said quickly. Brenda shook her head in confusion. "His dad has a good job now. One that will let him take good care of his family. So…everything's alright. You can cross Juan off your list now." He gave her an encouraging smile, but she just stood in front of him, bewildered.

"H-how?"

"Gil did it," Sara explained. "He…put in a good word for Juan's dad so he could get a better job at the hotel he works at."

"So…now Juan is okay. You don't have to worry about him," Grissom explained.

The shock on Brenda's face didn't dissipate as they continued down the aisles, loading more purchases into the carts. Their last stop was the gift wrap section where they stocked up on wrapping paper, cards, and tape. Loads of tape. Sara eyed the girl as she quietly selected a penguin-themed Christmas card to give along with the presents. It wasn't like Brenda to be so silent. Usually she couldn't shop without talking someone's ear off about every little thing she saw. But she said nothing as she stacked two boxes of cards in the cart and continued walking down the aisle.

As Grissom and Sara pushed the carts in the direction of the registers, he furrowed his brow. "Is she alright? I thought she'd be…happy."

"I'm sure she is," Sara told him, although it wasn't true. She had no idea how to categorize Brenda's reaction. Was she upset that she didn't solve Juan's situation herself? Was she just mad that the kids at the group home wouldn't be getting the iPods they wanted? Sara shrugged at Grissom. "Don't worry about it."

They paid for everything -- Grissom attempted to take out his credit card, but Sara swiftly beat him to the punch -- and returned home for a late dinner. Brenda picked at her food and didn't say much. Sara uneasily tried to pick up the conversation, but it didn't do much. Brenda seemed unwilling to talk, and Grissom seemed afraid to.

They cleared the table in silence. "Brenda," Sara sighed, "why don't you go upstairs and get ready for bed. You look beat."

Brenda nodded, turning towards the direction of the stairs. Halfway there, she stopped in her tracks. Before Sara realized what was going on, Brenda gave Grissom a quick hug and then darted up the stairs. Eyes wide, Grissom's gaze seemed fixed on the little girl's path as he stared, transfixed, with his hands still in his pockets.

Neither one of them said a thing until it was time for him to leave. As she walked him to the door, he took her hand and held it for a long moment. "I love you," he sighed, kissing her cheek.

He gave her hand a squeeze and then left.

TBC…


	79. Chapter 79

A/N: I posted this with entirely too many typos. I apologize. They should be fixed now. Or, at least, the ones I caught.

Chapter 79

Sara could feel a pair of eyes staring at her before she opened her own. She peeled one open and then the other. Brenda was standing by her bedside.

"Mom?"

"Mmm-hmm?" She slowly lifted herself up to stretch.

"I've got an idea," Brenda said excitedly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What is it?"

"Okay, you know how Gil got you the first edition of _Little Women _for your birthday?" Sara nodded and the girl continued, "And you know how Gil's favorite book is _The Cat in the Hat_? Well…we should _so _get him the first edition for Christmas. Wouldn't that be great?"

Sara tried to blink away the tiredness from her eyes. "Yeah," she yawned. "Good idea."

"So we can get it for him?"

"Sure. Whatever," she said, her head hitting the pillow once more.

It was only until a couple of days later when Sara started researching early edition books that she began to regret her easy agreement. After the initial shock of just how expensive first editions were had passed, the reality that Grissom had spent such a large sum of money on her birthday present had Sara squirming in discomfort. Years and years of working overtime while living like a broke college student had secured her a fairly large nest egg, but she wasn't used to spending so much money on something so…small. Her biggest purchase had been their house and she never regretted it. It was more than just somewhere to live. It was Sara's first home, the first place where she had a family.

And that family included Gil.

Sara sighed to herself and decided to just go for it and purchase the first edition book. It would mean a lot to Brenda, and she knew it would mean a lot to the man she loved.

When she brought it home from an antique book distributor that Friday afternoon, Brenda cooed over the old Dr. Seuss classic before they wrapped it and stored it in Sara's home office for safe-keeping. "Gil's going to be here any minute," she told her daughter as the girl secured the last bow on the package.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. They headed downstairs to welcome Grissom. He had come to help them wrap the presents for the children at the group home, a task that Brenda was looking forward to ever since she found out that Juan Santos had got what he wanted for Christmas. Grissom wiped his feet on the welcome mat at the doorway and entered the house, a shy smile gracing his face.

Brenda tugged him into the family room where she and her mother had stacked the gifts and wrapping supplies. "Isn't it so cool? It's like…a mountain."

"Yeah. Oh," he exclaimed, digging into his pocket, "I've got something for you." He pulled out a Polaroid picture and handed it to the girl. "It's Juan and his family."

Sara eyed the photo in Brenda's hands. Juan Santos' father was sitting on a sofa, beaming, with his three children in his lap. "Where did you get that?"

"I, uh…I went with Beth Reynolds to the Luxor to make sure everything was okay," Grissom explained. "That they had everything they needed. They do. They're fine."

Sara kept her loving gaze on Grissom while Brenda's eyes remained locked on the photo. "They look happy."

"They are," Grissom assured her.

Sara placed her hand between his shoulder blades and rubbed softly, feeling the heat from his skin through his cotton shirt. Her fingers were itching to creep over to his shoulder so she could wrap her arm around him for a hug. Instead, Sara dropped her hand and sighed. "Okay, so do we eat first and then wrap presents, or do we wrap presents and eat?"

Brenda cocked an eyebrow. "What's for dinner?"

"Veggie burgers."

"Let's eat and then wrap presents."

Sara looked to Grissom. "Cool with you?"

He shrugged. "I could eat."

They gathered in the dining room and discussed their attack strategy. "I say we get the big presents out of the way first," Sara suggested. "And then we wrap the smaller ones."

"Sounds good," Brenda said, her mouth full of soy burger.

They quickly cleared the table after dinner and made their way to the family room where the presents waited. "Okay…let's start with the suitcase." Brenda extracted a list from her pocket that contained the name of every child living at her former residence and the gifts purchased for them. "That's for…Sharon. We also got Sharon the matching schoolbag and the talking doll."

Grissom lifted the gifts from the pile as Brenda named them. "You know, it might be best if we wrapped according to child, so we can keep their presents together."

"Good thinking," Brenda said, sounding like a military official addressing one of her soldiers. "Let's separate them -- one pile for each kid -- and then wrap them."

"Yes, ma'am," Sara said jokingly as they began grouping the presents according to child as Grissom had suggested. "Okay, I've got the Harry Potter Legos," Sara said, hoisting up a medium-sized box. "Is that for the kid who wanted Harry Potter stuff or the kid who wanted Legos?"

"It's for the Harry Potter boy," Brenda informed her. "We've got other Legos for the Lego boy."

"All right," Sara said, starting a new pile. In under a half an hour, they had everything sorted out. They moved the coffee table aside so they could settle down on the floor and get to wrapping. On her tenth package, Sara got a little sloppy and sliced the pad of her left finger with the scissors. "Ow!" she exclaimed, immediately putting the finger to her lips, applying pressure to stem the trickle of blood.

Grissom took her by the wrist, gently tugging her hand down so he could see the wound. "It's small," he said, more to Brenda than to Sara, for the little girl had dropped what she was doing to crowd her mother, concerned over her injury. "Let's get you a Band-Aid," he told her, guiding her to her feet. With Brenda's help, he carefully cleaned the blood from her finger, applied antibacterial ointment, and bandaged her up. "There we go," he sighed. "How about Brenda and I finish the presents and you supervise from the couch?"

Sara smiled and then took her seat on the couch. "Chop-chop, my elves! Get those presents wrapped!" As they happily did her bidding, she grabbed the remote control and switched on the television. "Ooh. _It's a Wonderful Life_. It's just starting. I haven't seen that in years."

"Me either," Grissom said as he curled a ribbon with the edge or a pair of scissors.

"What's that?"

"A Christmas movie," Sara supplied, getting comfortable against the pillows of the couch. "You guys done yet?"

"Just about," Brenda said, arranging the last pile of wrapped presents. She and Grissom took their seats next to Sara on the couch. "It's a black and white movie," the girl whined as the opening credits faded and the movie began.

"It's a classic," Grissom informed her. "Just watch. It's good."

And it was. Brenda became mesmerized. Unfazed by the dark undertones of the movie, she was enthralled by the story presented to the viewer. The tale of a good man in despair seemed to reach the girl, and his questioning of his very own existence touched on discussions Sara had had with Brenda, discussions about their similar pasts. Both had believed at one time or another the world would fail to notice had they just stopped existing. It was a lonely feeling, and it hurt for Sara to recall it, but the sweet ending had all of them smiling.

"I like Clarence," Brenda yawned, leaning into her mother's shoulder.

"Me too," Sara sighed.

"Are angels real?"

Sara blinked. "Um…do you think they are?"

"I don't know. That's why I asked," Brenda said, yawning once more.

"Well…um…"

The girl closed her eyes. "Do we believe in God?"

"Excuse me?"

"God. Do we believe in God," she repeated. "Martin's parents have this little model of a barn on their fireplace mantel with animals and a baby and stuff. Dr. Cheng said it was the Nativity."

Sara felt her body go tense. "Right."

"And so I googled it and I got a bunch or websites about Jesus. I know Christmas is Jesus' birthday. But we don't go to church. Are we supposed to?" Brenda asked, her eyes still closed. "Do we believe in God?"

"Um…" Sara had no words.

"Different people celebrate Christmas in different ways," Grissom explained gently. "For some it means the birth or Jesus. For others, it's about peace or Earth. For the Chengs, it's about the Nativity -- about Mary giving birth to the Son of God in a manger. For Norah and her family, it's about the traditions they've built as a family," he said. "For you…I think you've got evidence of what Christmas is to you in this very room."

Brenda's eyes popped open and she looked at her surroundings. "Um…the TV?"

Grissom laughed. "No, the presents. Christmas, to you, seems to be about giving. I haven't heard you say one thing about what you wanted for yourself for Christmas. Besides a dog, but I think that's just a general request, and not specific to the holiday."

"So…it's about giving…for me?"

"That's my guess," he shrugged. "It can be a lot of things for you."

"What's Christmas for you?" Brenda asked, turning her head to face him completely.

Grissom pressed his lips together as he thought. "For me…it's about reflection, I think."

"Like in a mirror?"

"No," he chuckled. "It's about looking back, kind of like George Bailey did. And it's about looking forward."

TBC…


	80. Chapter 80

Chapter 80

After Sara had tucked a very sleepy Brenda into bed, she stood at the top of the stairs for several minutes, replaying the night's events in her head. She had froze the moment her daughter brought up the subject of religion. When she thought about it, Brenda's questions weren't exactly out of left field. They had been spending a lot of their free time together doing Christmas activities. The topic of the origin of the holiday should've been something she expected to come up in conversation. Brenda was a very curious child. She questioned everything. That she would soon be asking why practically the whole country stopped to decorate trees and wrap presents should've been obvious. Nonetheless, Sara had trouble expressing herself that night.

To Sara, Christmas had always represented family. And because it represented family, she had no part in it. Christmas was...people. It was laughing and hugging and passing the mashed potatoes across a crowded dining table. Or at least that's what she pictured Christmas was like when she was young.

Now...now Christmas still meant family to Sara. But her vision was more quiet, softer. It was her, cuddled up with Grissom and Brenda on the couch. It was Grissom doing a wonderful job of explaining something to her daughter when she herself didn't have the words. It was Brenda talking of angels as she sleepily rested her head on her mother's shoulder. This holiday that had escaped her all her life was now suddenly in her grasp.

Sara smiled as she bounded down the stairs and back to the family room. Grissom was still parked on the couch, looking more contemplative than usual.

"What's up?" she asked as she plopped down by his side, scooting up close to him.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "What should I get Brenda for Christmas?"

Sara raised her brows. "Oh…" She cleared her throat. "You really don't have to get her anything. She's got everything she needs."

"Of course I need to get her something," he laughed. "I'm having such a hard time figuring out what to get, though. Besides a dog. That's the one thing I know she'd love."

"No dog," Sara said firmly, chuckling a bit. "Maybe for her next birthday, but it's something that we have to plan for, and I have to be sure Brenda is ready for it."

"How pragmatic of you."

"Why, thank you," she smiled.

"So, we still haven't solved my problem," he told her. "What do I get Brenda?"

"Well, what do you think you should get her?"

He pursed his lips. "Well…I don't know if this counts as a pet, but what about a Venus Fly Trap?"

"A Venus Fly Trap?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "We've had a few long conversations about them. She's very…intrigued by the plants and how and why they need more than water and sunlight. She had a lot of questions."

"I have no doubt about that," Sara laughed. "A Venus Fly Trap, huh? Go for it."

"All right, then. I will. What are you going to get her?" Grissom asked, tugging Sara onto his lap.

She groaned happily as she let his warmth seep into her. "I have no idea. Brenda said she wanted her present to be this thing we're doing for the kids at her old group home, but I have to get her _something_. I can't not get her anything. She's my child. And this is our first Christmas."

"You'll think of something," he sighed, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder.

"Yeah." She looked up at the ceiling. "What do you reflect on?"

"Hmm?"

"You said Christmas was a time of reflection for you," she reminded, turning her body around in his lap so she could face him. "What is it you reflect on, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't," he told her. "I…I guess I reflect on basic things: the state of the world, what I've seen on the job. It's a time for me to look back, and to plan ahead."

"Just work, then?"

"No…no, not just work. Not now, anyway."

Sara smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning close to nibble on his chin. "What do you think you'll reflect on this year?"

He put his head back against the cushion, sighing lightly as he enjoyed how she set her teeth on his neck softly. "This year…" he began, his voice trailing off into nothingness.

"Uh-huh?"

"_Jeopardy_."

Sara pulled back. "That's it? A whole year and Alex Trebek is what you'll remember?"

Grissom laughed. "No. No, I don't reflect on Trebek. It's more about how the show represents our time together. I feel like the bulk of my year has been spent on this couch. Answering questions about the Reinaissance or modern architecture."

She felt her back stiffen. Sara couldn't figure out if he was happy that his once busy life – filled with authority over dozens of extremely talented people and extremely critical situations that were his responsibility to fix – was now more…sedate. Now, the only person who looked up to him was under five feet tall and liked to fold her napkins into origami. "So, you went from head of the lab to...an armchair game show contestant."

"Yeah," he sighed, relaxing back against the sofa, pulling her down with him.

"What was Christmas like when you were a kid?"

Grissom exhaled into her neck. "Quiet."

"Because your mom is deaf?"

"Partly because of that and partly because…I don't know. Back in the sixties – before all that peace and love and Woodstock stuff, and even after that – single moms weren't the norm. I think because my dad had left us, it was like we didn't feel like we had the right to really celebrate. We got a tree and we went to church, but…" Grissom shrugged. "I don't know. It wasn't like this."

Sara raised her brows. "Like this?"

"You know…warm. Brenda is taking real joy in the holiday. And you're taking joy in her joy. It's…Christmas. As it should be."

Sara turned to face him, giving him a small peck on the lips. _Life_…was as it should be.

TBC…


	81. Chapter 81

A/N: I need to thank dju for pointing out to me that I forgot the 'r' in T-shirt. Twice. I'm giggling so hard right now. Sorry about that!

Chapter 81

It was raining. Pouring, actually. The care that she had taken with her hair, her makeup, her clothes -- it was all for naught. She was drenched as she ran from her car to his front door; soaked as she knocked rapidly until he answered her call, and a sopping mess as he led her by the elbow into his foyer.

"What are you doing here?" Grissom asked inquisitively.

"It's Wednesday," Sara huffed, peeling off her dripping jacket.

"Yeah, but it's Wednesday morning," he said, holding his hand out to take the jacket from her.

Sara straightened and tugged at her wet, wrinkled shirt, doing her best to look presentable. Her hair hung in wet ropes around her face. "I wanted to surprise you."

Grissom smiled. "You did. Uh…why don't we get you out of those wet clothes?"

"Yeah, that was the idea," she said under her breath, her voice barely audible as she followed him into his bedroom.

He went straight to his dresser and began pulling out the comfortable cotton garments she recognized so well while she stripped, wrestling the wet clothes from her body. Grissom draped a long-sleeved gray T-shirt on his shoulder and began to dig around for a bottom to match. "The top should be fine," he said with his back to her. "I don't know about the pajama pants, though. They might be way too big." He turned to face her and his mouth -- which had been quick to smile as he ushered her into his house -- was now set in a grim line. She stood in front of him: messy hair, mascara running, a scowl on her face. In bright red lingerie. It was supposed to be his Christmas surprise. She had taken the last Wednesday before Christmas off of work so they could spend some quality time together. Though Sara had off the week of Christmas -- she knew all those favors she had done over the years were going to pay off -- so did Brenda. Finding time for sex while a little girl romped around and begged you to take her to the planetarium or a movie was fairly difficult. Therefore, Sara had planned a whole Wednesday around getting laid. She even bought the sexy underwear as an added bonus to entice him. _Entice him_, she thought bitterly to herself. She looked like a drowned rat swathed in scraps of red silk.

Grissom stood in front of her, stock still, his hands still clutching the pajama bottoms.

Sara raised her brows and took the clothes from him, slipping into the T-shirt and too-loose pajama bottoms before hastily running her fingers in her hair and moaning at her reflection in a nearby mirror. Drowned rat didn't cover it. "You don't happen to have a rubber band, do you?"

"Hmm?"

"A rubber band? For my hair?"

"Oh! Uh…no. I, uh…I might have a _rubber _rubber band, but…"

Sara glowered at her reflection for the last time and sighed. "I'll take it."

Grissom shuffled over to the living room where a pile of freshly delivered mail lay on the console, bound in a rubber band. He unwound it from the short stack of letters and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she mumbled as she secured her hair before moving over to the couch where she slumped down on it like a sack of potatoes.

"Do you…want anything to eat?" he asked as he gathered her clothes in his arms so he could toss them into his dryer.

"I'm fine," she said, grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV.

Grissom eventually took his seat next to her, but didn't lounge back against the leather like she did. His body remained stiff as he watched her watch television.

Sara scanned the channels, finally settling on the History Channel's coverage of Teddy Roosevelt. As the narrator discussed Roosevelt's foreign policy, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her bra, not completely dry, was digging into the skin of her back. Sighing, Sara slipped both arms into the armholes of her borrowed T-shirt and undid the clasp of her bra, tugging it from her shoulders before extracting it through one of the sleeves and leaving it on the coffee table. Grissom watched in awe as she settled back down against the couch, enjoying the coolness of the cotton against her breasts.

He cleared his throat and crossed his legs.

She went to the bathroom several minutes later. As she slipped the slightly damp underwear down her hips, Sara decided to just chuck them, and finished peeling the panties down her legs. When she was finished, she slid Grissom's pajama pants on, tying the tie at the waistband extra tight. After washing her hands, Sara left the bathroom with her silk panties balled in her fist. She crossed the living room, picking up her bra along the way, and then turned to Grissom. "I'm just going to throw these in the dryer with the rest of my clothes," she told him. Sara trudged to his small laundry room and opened the dryer, enjoying the rush of hot hair that bathed her face. She added the underwear to the mix, not quite caring if the silk ruined in the heat of the dryer, and then stood up, yelping when she felt the firm press of a warm body against her back.

Grissom's arms wound their way around her waist. He settled his lips on her neck, holding them there while he spoke against her skin. "I assume you came here to do more than sit on my couch in pajamas that are too big for you and watch a special on Theodore Roosevelt."

Grissom gyrated his pelvis against her ass and Sara moaned. "That was the plan. But the rain messed me up." He started to nibbled on her ear and she shivered. "I bought new underwear."

"I noticed."

As his fingers worked their way under the hem of the T-shirt, she gripped his wrists, stilling him. Sara turned in Grissom's arms and placed her palms squarely on his chest. "Why don't you get in bed?"

He arched a brow. "By myself?"

"Give me a few minutes," she winked. "Gotta change."

"Back in the underwear?" She nodded at him. "Sara…I'm just going to get it off you once we get to the bedroom."

"Grissom, my hair is a mess, my makeup is a mess, I am standing here in your pajamas--"

"My pajamas are quite sexy on you."

"--I feel gross," she told him, slipping from his grip to open the dryer once more and pluck out her warm undergarments. "See you in a bit," she said, waving the red silk in his face quickly before leaving the laundry room. Sara grabbed her pocketbook and retreated to the bathroom so she could reapply her makeup, brush her hair, and change. She wasn't quite sure why she was so insistent about getting gussied up. Their sex life -- though passionate -- didn't really vary all that much. They got naked without much ceremony, screwed vigorously, and then relaxed in bed in front of the television. She was usually in her work clothes -- and he in his sweats -- when things heated up, and they never really needed more than that. Nevertheless, Sara wanted to feel…sexy. She didn't want to feel like the mom who has just finished work and was about to cook dinner. She wanted to feel like the woman who played hooky so she could fuck her lover senseless.

She stared at herself in the large bathroom mirror. Not bad. Her hair was almost dry and was curling up rather artfully around her face; her makeup was a little louder than usual, but that wasn't saying a lot. The underwear…it didn't leave much to the imagination -- what underwear really did? -- but the deep, bright red screamed risqué in a way her usual coffee-colored satin didn't. Sara didn't have much in the way of curves, but what she did have was fully on display.

She looked…nice.

Or maybe nice wasn't the word. She looked -- hoped she looked -- tempting. After taking a deep breath, Sara exited the bathroom and wended her way to Grissom's bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, sweatshirt off. She stepped into the room, feeling, oddly enough, like she was on display, like he was her audience. Sara fought the desire to cross her arms over her midsection. It was silly to suddenly feel the jangle of nerves.

He took her hand. So much of her skin on display and his hand flew straight to hers. Grissom linked their fingers and slowly guided her to her seat on the edge of the bed, right next to him. With his free hand, he touched a curling lock of her hair and pursed his lips. "I wish it rained more in Las Vegas."

TBC…


	82. Chapter 82

Chapter 82

His hands framed her face gently. She sat perfectly still as his eyes raked over her. "I've seen so many faces…in lectures, at crime scenes…when I first saw you, you were just another face. When I meet people, I pick out something specific to remember them by. The boy sitting next to you in the lecture hall, he was Nail Biter. He chewed on his nails the entire time. Sometimes it's a quirk like that, or a mohawk or glasses…with you," he breathed, his fingers brushing over her lips, "it was the space between your teeth." Self-consciously, Sara pressed her lips together and Grissom frowned. "No, don't do that," he sighed. "It was just a way or recognizing you. The next day I saw you, I remembered the space between your teeth. And then I went back to my hotel and couldn't stop thinking about it. And your mouth. I wanted to kiss you so badly." He ran his right index finger across her lower lip. "There were so many times when we were at work when I'd just want to kiss you. A kiss. So simple. It shouldn't be so alluring now, especially since it won't be too long before I'm inside you again," he said quietly, his left hand leaving her face to momentarily stroke her silk-covered core. She gasped. "But still…it's your mouth that draws me. I want to kiss it, I want to see it smile. I want to hear the words that come out of it."

Grissom leaned forward until his lips were a whisper away from hers. His tongue snaked out to flick against the space between her teeth before he closed the gap, sealing their mouths together. Sara let her head fall back as he changed the angle. He moaned as she granted him full access to his mouth. "Mmm…if I had kissed you when I met you," he said as he tore himself away from her, "I probably would've had to quit my job and move to San Francisco so I could keep kissing you. And then this," he sighed, tugging one bra strap down so he could easily slide his hand into a cup. He squeezed softly and smiled to himself. "So beautiful." He pulled the other bra strap down so her naked chest lay before him. "I confess, if I had seen more of you the day we met, I might not have remembered you for the space between your teeth," he told her, his eyes on her breasts as her nipples stiffened to tight peaks.

Sara moaned and squeezed her legs together as he tested the texture of her sensitive skin against his hands. "Gil, I'm gonna…Gil, I need--"

He swiftly took her hand and placed it on her crotch. "Touch yourself."

She shook her head, confused. "But, I--"

Grissom kissed her, pressing her hand more firmly against her panty-covered skin. "Just do it," he pleaded. Her fingers slipped into the silk and she began to toy with herself as he continued to play with the rest of her exposed skin. Sara had been on edge ever since she had entered the room. His words stretched the string of her desire so taught she knew she'd snap if she didn't come soon, and his sweet commands, urging her to touch herself as he watched, were enough to push her over that edge, and hard. She fell back against the bed as she came, unable to hold herself up in a sitting position any longer. Grissom's eyes were glued to her hands, never leaving them even as her hips stilled.

He reached over with his right hand, circling his middle finger and thumb around one of her wrists and pulling it up out of her panties. Grissom examined her shiny fingers before sucking one of them into his mouth. After it was clean, he let her hand rest on the bed while he got to work, removing her underwear and then standing up to slip off his sweatpants. Sara eyed his erection with renewed hunger.

"God, you're so big," she said, and he looked up, as if he was surprised by her words. They never really…talked…during sex. Nothing remotely dirty. Grissom's ode to the space between her teeth was as graphic as they got. Though exhausted, Sara mustered up enough strength to lift herself up on her elbows. "Come on," she sighed. "I want it." She opened her thighs up wider to him, and he quickly climbed between them, placing himself at her opening.

"You want it?"

She nodded, biting back a moan. "So bad."

He slid inside her. "I love this. I love it so damn much." He started to slowly pump his hips forward. "You like it hard, don't you?" he asked, sounding a bit like he was taking a Gallup poll, but it turned her on nonetheless.

"I like _you _hard," she assured him, at once wondering where these words were coming from. "So hard. So big."

Grissom grunted and squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop talking," he wheezed. "You're going to make me come." He continued to pound into her, eyes closed. "Are you close?"

"Uh-huh," she sighed, her voice high and urgent. "Just a little more…just a little more…"

He jerked his hips forward suddenly, triggering her orgasm. The moment her walls began to close around him, he let out a groan. "Fuck, yes! Sara. Sara, Sara, Sara." Grissom collapsed on her, gulping air down as if he had been under water for an extended period of time. "God," he said, finally, slightly out of breath. "That was…"

"Intense?"

He pulled his head up to look at her. "Making love with you is always intense. This was…" He paused suddenly, the dreamy look from his eyes clearing at once. "I didn't…make you uncomfortable, did I?"

Sara raised her brows. "You mean your request? No." She shook her head firmly. "I enjoyed it. Thoroughly."

Sighing, he pulled himself off of her, grabbing the comforter from the foot of the bed so he could cover them up. Grissom's hands snaked around Sara's body and he held her close. "What would I do without you?"

Her face was buried in his neck as he uttered the question. She pursed her lips against his skin, wondering if he meant the question to be more than rhetorical.

"I'm hungry." He shifted slightly. "You up for some Japanese? There's a takeout three blocks from here that's open 24/7. I could go for some teriyaki salmon."

Sara's hand swept over his bare chest. "Sounds good."

Grissom got up out of bed and began to search for a clean pair of sweats. The doorbell rang and they both looked up at each other, surprised.

TBC…


	83. Chapter 83

A/N: I need to give a little background about my writing this fic. I started it over two and a half years ago during a rather dark period in my life. A family member had just been diagnosed with lung cancer and ended up dying about a month after I posted the first chapter. I think I got so involved with the beginning of the fic, charting the sometimes tedious details of Sara's life as a new mother, and treated it as a sort of refuge. The story offered me a universe I could control, where unhappiness is only temporary. As the years flew by and I got accustomed to -- but not over -- my loss, I grew to need this fic less, and I think I sort of resented it at times. It was this monstrosity of fluffiness that hung over my head, and it was as if I forgot what a value and a comfort it had been to me. Oddly enough, with all the goings on on _CSI _nowadays -- with Jorja and mailing flyers and donating money -- I've come to look at this fic as a sort of refuge again. I need to thank you all for spurring me on and encouraging me to continue when it seemed as if I had abandoned this fic. If not for you, I would not have my own little spot of GSR sanity within the realm of this show. I just needed to say that, because you all have been such a treasure to me, and I appreciate every one of you. I promise I will finish this fic. Unless I get hit by a bus in the near future, and then you're on your own.

Chapter 83

"That can't be the Japanese food," Sara said, sitting up amongst the disheveled sheets.

Grissom shrugged, tugging on his sweats and heading in the direction of the front door. She heard it open, a quick exchange of quiet words followed, and then the door closed once more. Curious, Sara got up out of bed and located one of Grissom's T-shirts so she could cover up. As she slipped the soft cotton over her head, she heard her boyfriend enter the room. She popped her head out of the hole quick enough to see him shove something into the spare closet in his bedroom.

"What are you doing?"

He looked up at her quickly. "Nothing."

"Who was that?" she asked, walking up to him.

"FedEx." Grissom shut the door of the closet and raised his brows. "Should we order Japanese now? I've got a menu somewhere." He attempted to move past her, but she blocked his path.

Sara tilted her head to the side. "Gil…what's the matter?"

"Nothing's the matter."

Her hand flew to the doorknob of the closet. She flung it open and saw…cardboard box after cardboard box of mail piled up high. "Do you have some sort of ebay fetish? What is all of this?" Different-sized boxes littered the small closet, their labels from various companies -- some she recognized and some she didn't.

"This is…my inventory." He clasped his hands together and twiddled his thumbs.

"Your inventory?"

"I…well…" he began, running his hand over his face as he tried to find the words. "I've been trying to think of something to buy you for Christmas."

"You don't have to buy me anything--"

Grissom held up a hand. "Please. Like I'm not going to get you anything. It's just…the problem is…well…okay, I leave your house every night and come home and go on the computer and try to find…something. I've given up on the mall. Anyway, so every night I look at different online stores, and…"

Sara's eyes widened. "Are you saying all of this is for me?"

"No. No…see, here is where I've been having trouble. I'll search and search for something for you -- something I think you might like -- but nothing is ever right. I just keep finding stuff for Brenda."

Her eyes wandered to the closet once more, and the stack of boxes it held. "These…" she said, gesturing to the pile, "…are all for Brenda?"

"Well," he began, and then turned to the closet, pulling out a small cardboard box from the middle of the pile. "This one is for you. It's kind of a joke," he said, handing it to her. "You can open it now, if you want."

Sara opened the package slowly, confused. A cellophane-wrapped DVD slid into her hands. "You got me _Annie_?"

"It's a joke," he reiterated. "And not a very good one."

She looked up from the DVD in her hands, beaming at him. "Let's watch it now." She took his hand and led him to the bed to sit before scurrying to his dresser to load the movie into the DVD player.

"Are you…sure?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah. I want to watch it with you. And while we relive my childhood horrors, you can explain to me why on Earth you have a closet's worth of presents for Brenda. What happened to getting her the Venus Fly Trap?"

"Oh, I got her that, too." Grissom leaned back against the headboard and shrugged as Sara hit the 'play' button on the remote. "Everything I saw reminded me of her. I'd see something and go, 'Brenda would love this,' and then I'd add it to the cart. They're mostly little things: an official _Scrabble _dictionary, a computer program that teaches French -- she's been saying how she wants to learn the language. I got her a few books on the Pilgrims because she seemed interested in the subject ever since her Thanksgiving recital. Um…" he said, pursing his lips and wrinkling his brow as he went down his mental list while Sara's jaw continued to drop. "A chemistry set."

"I just got her a chem set for her birthday."

"Yeah, but this one is better. It's super deluxe," he smiled, holding his hands out wide. "And then there's the butterfly kit. I've got the larvae and everything ready and waiting. Uh…my mom's old Nancy Drew books, because she's getting into Nancy Drew. Uh…oh, yeah, the charm bracelet."

"Charm bracelet?"

"Hold on," he said, "I'll get it. "I have to put it together. The parts all came separate." Grissom got out of bed just as the opening credits of the movie finished. Sara could barely hear Little Orphan Annie sing her sob story as she registered the magnitude of Grissom's gifting. He returned to the mattress with an opened cardboard box that contained several smaller jewelry boxes. "The bracelet itself is in the big one," he told her, and she opened the largest velvet box to reveal a lovely gold bracelet with a heart-shaped tag at the clasp. "And here are the charms. It's amazing what they have on the internet. I got her a fish because, of course, she has a fish. Then there's a pack of cards, because she's so good at poker." He handed her a tiny gold and enamel charm fashioned into a deck of cards. "A Christmas tree because it's Christmas, of course. A letter 'B' for Brenda. Um…this one is her birthstone. I had to look it up. Peridot. Uh…this one's a musical note, because she's learning piano. And then a ballerina, because she's taking ballet classes. That's it, so far."

Sara blinked at him. "So far?"

"Yeah," he nodded absentmindedly, taking the miniature deck of cards charm from her hands and fixing it onto the bracelet. After a couple of minutes, Grissom held up the finished product. "Do you think she'll like it?"

"I…I think she'll love it. I _know _she'll love it. She'll love everything," Sara told him, still a bit in shock over the amount of thought he had put into the gifts.

"Is something wrong, Sara?"

She shook her head. "No. It's just…wow. You've done so much. Too much. I haven't even bought anything for her yet."

"You'll think of something," Grissom assured her before placing the bracelet -- charms and all -- carefully in its velvet box. He stared at the closed box for several moments before looking up at Sara. "Do you want to give her these gifts? I mean…you're welcome to all of them."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No. You bought them. You picked them out. You overdid it a little," she smiled. "You overdid it _a lot_, actually."

"I know. I kept looking for stuff for you but…nothing. There was nothing. And it seemed like everything was something Brenda would like. It started out as just the _Scrabble _dictionary. And then it was the Pilgrim books. And then I realized that all of my mom's old books were in storage, and that I could give those to Brenda, too."

Sara furrowed her brows. "Your mom…doesn't mind?"

"Well, I didn't really tell her. I mean…when she downsized to an apartment, all of the stuff from the house that she didn't really need anymore went into storage. She pretty much gave everything to me," he shrugged. "Like the piano I never played, and the world's ugliest set of china. And the books. So I had asked her to go to the storage facility so she could ship me her old Nancy Drew collection."

"And she didn't ask you why?"

Grissom pursed his lips and tilted his head. "I think she just thought it was one of my weird things. Sara, I dissected a cat in my bedroom when I was fourteen. I think she was just happy I didn't ask her to ship anything that was once alive." He got up off the bed and walked to the closet to put back the charm bracelet, but stopped midway and turned to Sara. "It had been hit by a car."

She raised her brows. "What had been hit by a car?"

"The cat," he informed her. "It was already dead when I found it. I didn't kill it so I could dissect it. I wouldn't do anything like that."

Smiling, Sara rolled her eyes. "I'm glad." She watched him replace the bracelet back in the closet and stood up quickly so she could peek at his stash of gifts over his shoulder. She breathed him in as her eyes wandered over the packages. "Can I see the books?"

"Sure." Grissom bent down and retrieved a large cardboard box from the floor of the closet, hoisting it to the foot of the bed. Sara's eyes raked over the carefully printed name on the top of the package: _GILBERT GRISSOM_, all in capital letters. It hit her, suddenly, that that was his mother's handwriting. It was real, honest evidence of the woman who raised him, the woman who very likely knew him best. She had a schoolteacher's handwriting, very precise, as if you could use her careful lettering to model the alphabet. Grissom, oblivious to Sara's observations, peeled off the packing tape and opened the flaps. "Here we go." He reached in and grabbed a rather large bubble-wrapped bundle and removed the final layer of protection to reveal about two dozen pristinely preserved books. "These are them."

Sara smiled and Grissom frowned.

"Do you think she'll mind that they're used -- that they're so old?" He picked up a book and examined it. "I could buy her the new ones. I mean…"

She took the book from his hand and opened it, pulling out a faded bookmark with the same precise printing that was on the cardboard box it was shipped in: _This Book Is The Property Of CAROLYN SMITH_. Sara ran her fingers over the name. "Brenda will love the books," she assured him quietly. "I never knew your mother's name."

"Oh…well…I guess because I never refer to her by her name." He smiled, taking the book from her hands so he could examine the bookmark as well. "She couldn't have been more than eight or nine when she wrote this. That's when she lost her hearing," Grissom sighed. "She once told me she grew to love reading after she went deaf because it was the one activity that actually improved without the sense of hearing -- no little distractions, you see. Just the book and you." He handed Sara back the book and walked over to the closet once more, pulling out a cracked leather photo album. "That's her," he said, turning to the first page and pointing to a portrait of a very young woman.

"She's beautiful."

"Mmm-hmm. Everyone said she looked like Grace Kelly. She was prettier than Grace Kelly," he murmured. "My dad…I think my dad married her because of her looks. Looking back, he wasn't really the type to put up with having a deaf wife. Not that he deserved better than my mom -- it was the other way around. But you would expect someone who marries a deaf woman to be somewhat…understanding and…accepting. He was more…shallow. But she was beautiful, and so he overlooked her disability. For a while."

"He left when you were five, right?"

"Yeah. Five. She wasn't happy for a long time after that. She tried to be," he said softly, "but I knew she wasn't."

"Was it hard? With just the two of you?" Sara asked, placing her hand gently on his shoulder.

Grissom shook his head. "I liked it, just the two of us. She has been such a wonderful mother. I wasn't the most…normal child. I think it took a very special woman to raise me, to do what was best for me."

Intrigued, Sara grabbed the remote and muted the TV before pulling him down to a sitting position on the bed. "What were you like as a kid?"

He got comfortable on the mattress, pulling her close. "I didn't have so much gray hair."

She laughed and playfully punched his arm. "No, really."

"I was…a younger version of me," he said. "I don't know how else to put it. I didn't have friends, really. Not as all the kids in the neighborhood grew to an age where digging holes in dirt and looking for worms stopped being fun. I guess…I never stopped being that kid who liked to look for worms. They all started playing team sports, talking to girls…and I had my worms."

Sara curled up against him, putting her head on his shoulder. "You didn't want to play sports and talk to girls?"

"Well, I wanted to play sports -- and I did get to play a bit in high school -- but I wasn't the kid who got picked to play during recess."

"And the girls?"

He chuckled. "I think I thought of girls as a separate species. And I don't think they thought of me at all."

In one swift move, she turned to straddle his body, snuggling her bare bottom against his sweats. "You don't still think of girls as separate species, do you?" He pursed his lips and she leaned closer, rubbing her cheek on his cheek before moving to whisper in his ear. "Because I think of you…a lot."

Grissom let his hands wander under her T-shirt to her bare ass. He gave it a soft smack. "Oh, it's mutual, my dear. Now…" he began, sitting up to hold her, "if we don't order food soon, I'm liable to break open the giant carton of popcorn I got Brenda that's sitting in the closet, because I'm starved."

Sara raised her brows and slowly lifted herself off of him. "You got her popcorn, too?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Some kind of gourmet stuff with toffee and chocolate and caramel."

"And you said you _didn't _get me anything? Besides _Annie_?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"I think I'm going to have to confiscate that popcorn," she said, smiling slyly at him as she bounded off of the bed towards the closet.

"The box is somewhere in the middle," he said, calling out to her from his spot on the bed.

When Sara returned to him with the correct box, they attacked the wrapping, tossing it over the edge of the bed and onto the floor until all that was left was a large, bright and shiny tin. Sara opened it and took the first handful of the sweet confection inside while Grissom looked at her, warily. "Is it right that we're eating one of Brenda's Christmas presents?"

Mouth full of popcorn, Sara nodded her head. "We're sparing her the cavities."

TBC…

A/N #2: The story about the cat being dissected in a bedroom is absolutely true. My uncle did it when he was young. My grandmother still talks about how his bedroom smelled like formaldehyde for months.

A/N #3: I noticed that in this fic, people order a lot of takeout, shrug their shoulders often, and look at someone with either "wide eyes" or "raised brows." Also, with my fics in general, when someone is having a tough time they go to the bathroom and either take a hot shower or sit on a closed toilet and think. I didn't realize how much I repeated that until I skimmed a few of my fics over. In case you can't tell, I love takeout, I shrug my shoulders a lot, and tend to walk around with a wide-eyed expression. Also? Bathrooms are awesome. When I was little, I tried to convince my mother to let me make the bathroom my room. I was going to sleep in the tub. I had it all planned out…

A/N #4: I also hate popcorn and cannot believe I wrote it into the fic.


	84. Chapter 84

A/N: I hope everyone had happy holidays!

Chapter 84 

After gorging themselves on popcorn, they nestled under the covers.

"There are crumbs all over your duvet," Sara said softly as she pressed her face into his neck.

Grissom haphazardly wiped any leftover pieces of popcorn off of the fabric. "Eh, I'll wash it later." He held her to him, slipping his hand under the borrowed T-shirt that she wore so he could stroke the skin of her back.

"I could spend the rest of my life like this," she mumbled, stretching like a cat as his hand moved up and down her spine.

"Well, what about Brenda?"

"Half the rest of my life, then." Grissom's hand slid out from under her T-shirt. After a few more minutes, Sara pulled away from him and sat up. "I'm really stuck."

"Stuck?" His eyes were wide.

"Yeah. I have no idea what I'm going to do."

Grissom pressed his lips together. "Hmm?"

"How can one child be so hard to shop for?" Sara asked, and then rolled her eyes at the question. "Well, not hard for _you_, anyway."

He exhaled deeply. "I told you, you're welcome to any and all of them."

"That's cheating. I will not cheat," she said firmly as she sat back against the pillows. Pursing her lips, Sara turned to face him. "Any ideas?"

"So soliciting ideas is not cheating?" he asked, smiling slyly.

"I'm just…asking for help. For guidance. You are obviously very…gifted."

He shrugged his shoulders. "The trick is to not be selective. I just bought everything."

"Yeah, but everything you bought was _good_," she laughed.

"Well, think of Brenda – what she likes and what she's like," he suggested.

"She likes to cook," Sara supplied.

"I got her two cookbooks by that chef on television she likes so much," Grissom said guiltily.

"She loves Jeopardy."

"I got her an autographed picture of Alex Trebek."

"You're killing me here," Sara said, half sighing, half laughing. "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He's alive and well, and living in Las Vegas." 

"I'm not that bad," he protested.

She looked around playfully. "Where do you park your sleigh? And the elves – where are they? Or is your workshop somewhere else?"

"Ha ha ha."

"Don't you mean 'Ho ho ho?'"

He obliged her with a half-hearted "Ho ho ho" before swiftly pulling her onto his lap. "Tell Santa what you want for Christmas," he said, nipping lightly at her neck.

"Aren't you going to ask if I've been good this year first?"

"Oh, Santa Claus knows all," he said, slowly lifting the soft cotton of her shirt over her head. Sara leaned her back into his chest as he let his hands wander her now-exposed body. "I see you when you're sleeping. I know when you're awake."

She let out a laugh that quickly became a hiss as he found a nipple and pinched. "So, have I been bad or good?"

"Very, very good," he breathed before kissing her shoulder.

Sara turned in Grissom's lap, scooting forward until her chest was pressed against his. "So no coal in my stocking, huh?"

"Oh, I'll put something in your stocking," he said luridly before pausing. "Wait – does that even make sense?"

Giggling, she answered him with a kiss. He smiled against her lips as he lowered her down to the mattress. This time their lovemaking was carefree, and Sara felt a lightness in her soul that she hadn't experienced before. For all of her life, there had been something holding her back from complete happiness. Sometimes that something was big, like her parents' constant fighting. Other times it was small, like getting on the Dean's List and realizing she had no one but herself to take pride in the accomplishment. Either way, Sara was never without something that dogged her, that kept her from the true ease of contentment. When she had adopted Brenda, she had been ecstatic – nervous and ecstatic – but her then-strained relationship with Grissom ate away at her, despite her best efforts to forget about it and him. As they slowly forged a romantic relationship, Sara was presented with a new set of worries, and what dragged her down the most seemed to be the inevitable: she'd have to tell Brenda some day about her relationship with Gil, she'd have to hope that Brenda liked him enough to share her mother with him, and she'd have to hope that Grissom could love Brenda enough to abandon his reclusive ways – at least during his time with the little girl.

As it was…as it was, Brenda chattered incessantly about the Christmas present they bought Grissom; she bragged about his trivia prowess to her friends; she even spent hours in comfortable silence with him, leaning on his shoulder, eyelids drooping, as they finished up some Disney movie. And Grissom…Grissom had a closet full of carefully chosen presents for Brenda. He happily and patiently explained all of the things she wanted to know, and always seemed to go the extra mile to make her happy, whether it be helping her study for a science test or giving her all of his coleslaw when they ate out.. He bought her a Scrabble dictionary, for goodness sake.

He _knew_ her.

He really and truly knew her, and not because she happened to be the daughter of the woman he loved. Sara believed, even as Grissom rolled off of her, sweaty and exhausted, that his love for her had extended to her child. He had to love Brenda. All the evidence pointed to it.

That last weight that held her down had been lifted, and had it not been for his heavy arm carelessly tossed over her chest, Sara was sure she could've floated up to the ceiling.

She turned to him, ready to talk, ready to voice all of the thoughts currently humming in her brain.

He was asleep.

Sighing, Sara got up out of bed and dressed. She would have to pick Brenda up from school in a couple of hours, and they hadn't eaten yet. After taking one last moment to admire his sleeping form, she went into the living room and ordered his favorite takeout. He got up over an hour later and found her sitting at his kitchen table, sipping some tea.

She smiled at his mussed hair and tired eyes. "Your food is here if you want it."

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," Grissom said, taking his seat across from her.

Sara pushed the paper delivery bag towards him and watched him remove all of the containers that housed his food. He quickly opened one and popped a California roll in his mouth.

"Hungry, huh?" she grinned.

He nodded, mouth full. "The popcorn didn't fill me up. Did you eat?"

"Yeah, I had some miso soup."

"That's it?"

"I ate way more popcorn than you did," she reminded him.

They sat quietly for a few more minutes – Sara sipping her tea and Grissom poking his chopsticks in various containers of food. He pushed back from the table when he was done. "I don't think I'm going to be able to eat tonight. I'm stuffed."

"I'm making eggplant parmigian."

Grissom pursed his lips. "I'll make room," he said before he began clearing off the table. "Oh, I had an idea for your present for Brenda."

"I'm all ears."

"Well, you know how she loves Norah's horses, right?"

Sara raised her brows. "You think I should get her lessons?"

"No, I was thinking – maybe a horse. I know a stable that owes me a favor, and I'm pretty sure you could get a really good deal on an older horse. It's not like she's going to be in the Kentucky Derby or anything. She doesn't need a thoroughbred. And I was thinking—"

"A horse?"

"Yeah," he said, as if it were the most natural present in the world.

"I said no to a dog. And a ferret. And a newt. And a llama."

"You think a horse is too much?"

She began to laugh – quietly at first, but soon the giggles wracked her body. He was so cute. Brenda liked horses, so Grissom's first instinct was to do whatever he could to make her happy, however unrealistic. She understood the urge to spoil; it was one of the first issues she had to deal with as a parent. And now Grissom was dealing with it…

Sara felt warm, as if she were floating in hot water. It was all falling into place.

With flushed cheeks, she got up from her seat and dumped the rest of her tea in the sink before putting the mug in the dishwasher. "I'm going to get going. Brenda has piano lessons and then I've got to start on dinner."

He walked her to the door. "All right. I'm going to start wrapping Brenda's presents. I'll see you later." Grissom kissed her gently.

Sara turned to leave. Hand on the doorknob, she paused. "I think that it's time to tell Brenda. About us."

"Right now?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"No," she said quickly. "Just…soon."

"I…"

She kissed him once more and then opened the door. "I'll see you at dinner."

TBC…


	85. Chapter 85

Chapter 85 

When Sara picked Brenda up from school, she expected to see a happy girl, excited by the upcoming holidays. What she encountered was a frenzied ball of nerves in the body of a ten-year-old.

"What's wrong?"

"We're having a party tomorrow in school and I've gotta give everyone Christmas cards and I said I'd bring in cupcakes for the party and we've gotta make 'em," Brenda explained breathlessly. "Can I skip piano today? I didn't know everyone handed out Christmas cards but Norah and Martin said they had written theirs and that their moms bought our teacher presents."

"Slow down, slow down," Sara said. She could feel the little girl's anxiety seep into her own system. "Let's go through what you need again: cards."

"Yeah."

"For how many kids?"

"Thirty-three."

"Okay. Thirty-three cards. And what else? Did you say cupcakes?"

"Yeah, I volunteered to make cupcakes because we made cupcakes for the camp carnival and they were really good and everyone liked them," Brenda told her. "Thirty-three cupcakes. Well…thirty-four, in case my teacher wants one. Oh, and I've got to give her a card, too! Thirty-four cards."

Sara sighed loudly. "Thirty-four cards, thirty-four cupcakes – and try to give me a little more notice next time when you need me to make cupcakes. What else?"

"A present for my teacher."

Sara lifted her brows. What the hell did you buy for a fifth grade teacher? She was having enough trouble figuring out what to buy for her fifth grade daughter. "Okay," she breathed. "I'll take care of it. You're going to piano class and then when you get home you can fill out the cards. How much homework do you have?"

"None. We're having the party tomorrow."

"Okay. Good." Sara parked and walked Brenda to her lessons before scurrying back to her car and driving to the supermarket. She bought the ingredients for cupcakes and then headed to a local drug store for cards. She chose ones with snowmen on them, just in case people in Brenda's class did not celebrate Christmas. When she got home, not a little out of breath, Sara began assembling the eggplant parmigian. It was all ready to go into the oven when she checked the time.

"Shit," she said under her breath, and then reached for her cell phone, dialing a familiar number.

"Hello."

"Gil," she exclaimed. "I need a favor. Brenda got out of school with a laundry list of stuff that needs to get done before her class's holiday party tomorrow. The eggplant is all ready to go into the oven, but now I have to shop for a gift for her teacher. Could you do me a favor and pick her up from her piano lessons and take her home? She needs to get started writing Christmas cards for her class."

"Okay."

"Great!" She gave him directions to Brenda's piano class. "Oh, and just stick the eggplant in the oven for about twenty or so minutes at three hundred and fifty degrees. There's a bag of salad in the fridge, too, and—"

"Sara, I've got it," he assured her.

"Good. Great," she said, smiling into the receiver. He was so her other half. He just picked up where she left off, always ready when she needed him. "Thanks for everything."

"Goodbye."

Sara scrunched her nose. He never bid her goodbye over the phone without an "I love you." She shook her head. He was probably just busy wrapping Brenda's presents. She sighed and washed her hands before heading out the door to the mall. Sara had no idea what the whole teacher gift protocol was. She had no idea how much she was supposed to spend, or what on Earth she was supposed to buy.

As she pulled out of her driveway, Sara pulled out her cell phone once more and, this time, dialed Peggy Oliver's number. "Peggy, hi," she said quickly, and was greeted warmly by the woman on the other line. "I've got a question."

"Shoot."

"Brenda said Norah and Martin are each getting their teacher a Christmas gift, and I'm on my way to the mall right now. I'm not sure exactly…well…what the hell am I supposed to get? I mean…I don't want my kid to look bad."

Peggy gave a hearty laugh. "Don't go crazy. The gifts are just a token, a thank you."

"Okay. Okay," Sara exhaled. "What did you get for their teacher?'

"Oh, one of those generic gift basket things. You know, with the fruit and the candies and nuts and stuff. I buy a bunch of them and give them out to neighbors and people like that. But don't worry, we got you something special," she laughed.

Sara's eyes widened. The phone nearly slipped from her fingers. "Oh," she said weakly as she mentally added presents for Norah's family and for Martin's family to her list, for they had probably purchased something for herself and for Brenda, as well.

"I know Margaret is getting their teacher some kind of gift certificate to a spa."

Sara rubbed her temple. "Thanks for your help, Peggy," she said before hanging up. She dialed Grissom's number once more. Before he could get a word in, she told him her trip to the mall was going to be a big longer than she expected. "I've got the ingredients for cupcakes in the kitchen. Do you think you guys could make them while I'm at the mall. I don't know when I'm going to be home. It's probably going to be so crowded," she groaned.

"No problem."

She was right about the mall being crowded. It was packed. A Wednesday evening and there was barely room to breathe. She was able to cross Brenda's teacher off her list pretty quickly after purchasing a gift basket of sweet-smelling bath supplies. Sara toyed with getting Peggy Oliver and Margaret Cheng similar versions of the same thing, but decided against it. They were the mothers of Brenda's dearest friends. She knew a little effort was necessary.

She thought of Peggy first. The woman loved Christmas, and Christmas was in abundance throughout the mall. It didn't take long for Sara to locate a specialty ornament shop that sold fancy – and rather pricey – Christmas confections. The moment she spotted the little cowboy and cowgirl ornaments, she knew she'd be able to check off one more item on her list. The Chengs proved more difficult. They were two successful doctors, and didn't seem to want for anything. She almost bought them caduceus key chains, but it seemed much too cliché. Instead, knowing the couple had an extensive wine cellar, Sara opted for delicate champagne flutes. She'd pick up a bottle of champagne to go with the glasses on the way home.

The last people on her list were Brenda's best friends. Before Sara set foot in any toy store, she called her daughter and asked for some direction. "They're your friends. What do you want to get them?"

Brenda fortunately knew the likes and dislikes of her friends very well and speedily informed her mother as to what to purchase. Sara ran from store to store, laden with bags, as she finished up her purchases. A big part of her felt very guilty that she had bought gifts for her daughter's friends and for all of the children in Brenda's old group home, yet had not gotten anything for Brenda. Sara checked her watch. She was making good time, and Grissom was handling things on the home front. There was no reason why she couldn't spend a half hour scouting the stores for a gift for her daughter.

A half hour quickly became two hours and forty-five minutes, and Sara, arms aching from carrying the bags of already-purchased presents, located a bench and sat down feeling very defeated. Christmas was on Sunday and she had no idea what to get Brenda. Her eyes scanned the stores within her line of sight. She had been in most of them. Nothing screamed Brenda to her. Nothing. Sara squeezed her eyes shut and contemplated Grissom's horse scheme for a moment before shaking her head. She knew it was time to head home when she began considering buying Brenda a horse.

As she got up from the bench, Sara recalled Brenda's birthday. Picking out presents didn't seem nearly as hard then. She bought her a few things off of the internet, although the main present had been the trip to New York, which had never happened. 

She paused, standing stock-still while throngs of people rushed around her. New York.

In a mad dash, Sara bolted down one flight to the travel agency on the ground floor of the mall. She didn't know exactly what she was going to say, but the moment she sat down in front of an agent, the plan materialized in her brain. "I need to plan a trip to New York City."

The older woman behind the desk smiled kindly. "Why, sure. What dates do you have in mind?"

"Christmas is Sunday. I want to leave on Monday, the earlier the better. My daughter has two weeks off of school, but I've got to get back to work a little sooner than that. So, ideally, seven or eight days."

The agent slipped on her glasses and began to enter information into her computer. "Ah…okay…so would you want to take your trip into the New Year? See the ball drop in Times Square and all?"

"Um…sure. Sure. Sounds good."

They hammered out the dates and began discussing hotels.

"And this trip is for how many people?"

"Three."

TBC…


	86. Chapter 86

Chapter 86 

Beaming, Sara left the mall and picked up a bottle of champagne for the Chengs before heading home. The moment she opened the door, the sweet odor of baking cupcakes that she expected was instead replaced by a harsh, charred stench. Still clutching her shopping bags, she made a dash for the smoke-filled kitchen where Grissom and Brenda were pulling what looked like lumps of coal from the oven.

Coughing, Sara fanned the air in front of her. "I guess the cupcakes are very well done, huh?"

Both heads turned her way. "They're totally burnt," Brenda lamented.

"I can see that," her mother said, biting a smile.

"We, uh…got a little carried away with our chess game and didn't hear the oven timer," Grissom explained as he pulled off a pair of oven mitts.

"That's okay," Sara smiled. There was no way she could be mad. He neglected the cupcakes in favor of spending quality time with her daughter. Another trip to the grocery store was a small price to pay for the image of Grissom and Brenda locked in an intense chess game. "So…I guess I'll go run and get some more cake mix," she said.

"No, I'll go," Grissom countered.

Sara just shook her head. "I still have my jacket on. Don't bother. Bren," she said, looking at her daughter, "why don't you wrap your friends' gifts? They're in the big bag."

She left without another word, happily clutching her purse that held all of their travel plans. She couldn't wait to tell Grissom about the trip. The three of them would be able to go to a different city and bond over all of the new things they saw. They'd ice skate in Central Park and then go for a buggy ride. They'd go see the tree at Rockefeller Center and shop for souvenirs. They'd ring in the New Year as a family.

Sara was well aware that they'd need take this slow; she had booked Grissom a separate room and didn't have any definite plans to tell Brenda about her relationship with Grissom before their trip unless the girl asked point-blank – something she didn't expect Brenda to do. Sara decided to play it by ear. However it played out, she expected there to be a lot of love.

She giggled as she remembered the two of them fanning the smoking cupcakes, Grissom clad in sunflower-patterned oven mitts and Brenda tugging the neckline of her shirt up over her nose as she furiously worked her hands. They were adorable.

After purchasing more than enough boxes of cake mix, Sara rushed home and found Grissom at the sink, scraping away at the muffin pan with a Brillo pad.

"Hey," she said, setting down the grocery bag on the island.

He looked up at her and then went back to his pan. "Hey. This stuff won't come off."

Sara frowned. "You guys didn't use the muffin cups?"

Grissom furrowed his brows as he turned to her once more. "Muffin cups? What are those?"

She laughed. "You know those little paper things that you peel off the bottom of muffins and cupcakes – muffin cups. They were in the bag with the cake mix."

He groaned. "We didn't see them."

Sara smiled. "Why don't you go sit down or something? You look like you need a break."

"I'm almost done here," he assured her.

"Okay. I'll go check on Brenda."

She found the little girl in the family room, putting the finishing touches on her friends' gifts. "Did you do all of your cards?"

"Yep," Brenda smiled, pointing to the stack of envelopes on the coffee table.

"Great. So…that must've been one crazy chess game for you guys to forget about the cupcakes."

"Oh my God it was," Brenda exclaimed. "Gil is better at chess than Martin, even!"

"Wow," Sara laughed. "I've never played him."

"Mom, he's so good. He let me win at first, but finally he played for real. He's _so_ good."

Sara couldn't keep back her grin. "I bet." She checked her watch. "Hmm…it's getting late. I think you should go get ready for bed."

"But what about the cupcakes?"

"Don't worry about them." Sara kissed the top of her daughter's head and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Upstairs. I'll be there in five minutes to tuck you in."

"Okay, okay."

Sara went back to the kitchen, eager to tell Grissom about their upcoming trip. She found him hovering over the instructions on the back of the box of cake mix. "It's not rocket science, Professor."

"Very funny."

"I hear you are quite the chess player."

"She's just dazzled that I took her queen in four moves. She doesn't know all of the dirty tricks yet."

Sara laughed. "Give her time and she'll be using them against you." She took the box from his hand. "Don't worry, I'll do this. You sit down."

It didn't take much pushing on her part for him to hang up his apron and call it a day. Grissom took his seat at the kitchen table and watched her quietly. Sara got to work on two batches of chocolate cupcakes, cracking eggs and measuring vegetable oil.

"You're very good at that," he remarked as she poured batter into the muffin cups

She smiled slyly. "I know. I had to make a ton for Brenda's camp. A couple dozen is nothing," she said, slipping the pans into the pre-heated oven.

"Sara…I wanted to talk to you about something…"

She turned to face him. "I want to talk to you about something, too. I—"

"Are you drinking again?"

"Excuse me?"

He got up from his seat. "There was a bottle of champagne in one of the shopping bags."

She felt her stomach drop. "Are you serious?"

"Sara, it's just – you haven't had anything to drink in months and then you go out and buy champagne."

"And champagne flutes. They're a gift for Martin's parents." She turned quickly, wiping up phantom crumbs off of the counter.

"Oh." After a moment of silence he added, "I'm sorry. I just…I saw it and I got scared."

Her hand paused on the countertop. She couldn't fault him for being worried about her. After all, they were working towards making a life together. She could understand how he'd see the bottle of champagne and come to the conclusion he did. What he lacked in tact, he made up for in heart. "It's okay, Gil. But I want to make this clear: I am not an alcoholic. I choose not to drink."

"I understand."

"Just the way I choose not to eat meat."

He nodded. "Look, I uh…I should get going."

"Wait," she said excitedly. "I forgot to tell you!" Sara located her purse and pulled out the small folder the travel agent gave her. "I got Brenda her Christmas present."

"Great," he said, confused as he watched dig through her papers.

"We're going to New York," she smiled. "The day after Christmas."

"I think she'll like that more than a dog."

"And a horse," Sara laughed. "You, too." She gave him the folder.

"Me, too, what?"

"You're coming, too."

His face fell and Sara, feeling as if she could read his mind, quickly assuaged him. "I booked you another room. We'll be separate but…together. So…pretty awesome, huh?"

Grissom handed the travel folder back to her. "Yeah, um…look…I promised my mother I'd spend Christmas with her so…" His voice petered off.

Sara just stared at him.

"Look, sweetheart, I'll pay for my ticket and the room—"

"It's not that," she interrupted.

"I…I promised my mother," he explained quickly. "And you and Brenda will have such a great time. There are so many things to do in New York, you won't notice I'm not there. I promised my mother…and I didn't get to spend Thanksgiving with her, so…yeah."

It was on the tip of her tongue to mention that he hadn't spent Thanksgiving with them, either, but she held the retort in. She felt angry, and, at the same time, guilty for being angry. He wasn't going to spend Christmas with some random woman he met at a casino. He was going to be with his mother. Sara took a deep breath, doing her best to rein in her feelings.

Grissom pursed his lips, worried. "I've wrapped all of Brenda's presents so they're ready to go. I can drop them off tomorrow and you can store them in the garage until Christmas morning."

"Wh-when are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow night."

"When will you be back?"

He shrugged. "I'm driving there, so…I leave when I leave. I never stay long."

Sara pressed her lips together. "Um…okay. We'll miss you."

Grissom reached up, clasping his hand on her upper arm. "I…I'll be back." He loosened his grip and dropped his arm to his side. "I'd better get going."

She raised her brows. "Okay."

He left less than a minute later, and she stood alone in the kitchen, staring into space, until the oven timer brought her back to reality.

TBC…


	87. Chapter 87

Chapter 87 

On autopilot, Sara removed the cupcakes from the oven and placed them on the range. She looked at the time and, startled, remembered she had promised Brenda she would tuck her in.

The girl was fast asleep.

Guiltily, Sara secured the covers over her daughter and switched off the lamp. "Goodnight," she whispered, hoping that, somehow, Brenda would hear her. With that, she made her way out of the room and began to descend the stairs, stopping short when she came in view of the Christmas tree. It was such happy perfection: the lights were a little bit more concentrated on the bottom than the top, and there were pockets of branches that they had accidentally left ornament-free, but it was their tree. She had truly believed a family decorated it.

Sara stood there on the stairs, just looking at it. Had she been fooling herself? She thought back a few weeks, recalling the frenzied weekend they spent equipping the house for the holidays. Grissom had been so…so…part of it all. He had led the way as she navigated through unfamiliar territory. He had made her feel like she had every right to enjoy the festivities she once thought were off limits to her. He made Christmas hers. Theirs. For the three of them.

She took a seat on the steps, cradling her chin her in palm. It didn't make sense. Of course he'd want to spend time with his mother, but…something felt off. He had every right to spend the holiday where he wanted, and they had never committed to celebrating Christmas together, but it irked Sara. She had just assumed he'd be part of it.

Her heart tried desperately to find excuses for him, but her brain was having trouble accepting them. She had finally made the move earlier that day, had finally felt ready to begin introducing their relationship to Brenda, and he had backed away.

Sara squeezed her eyes shut.

It was typical Grissom. She didn't push for months and got everything she wanted, but the moment she asked for something, the moment she initiated the change, he fled. She wanted so badly to believe this was all just careless timing, that her suggestion as she left his townhouse that day did not set the following events in motion. She wanted to believe that his urgent desire to see his mother had to do with him telling her all about the life he had made for himself, the family, and was not an escape from domesticity.

Sara clung to that hope as she wept on the staircase, the tears obscuring the lights on the tree until the brightness blinded her.

She woke several hours later, her face pressed up against the spindles of the banister, her eyes still raw from crying. Numbly, Sara made her way to the kitchen and began frosting the cupcakes. With care, she stored them in Tupperware, placing the plastic containers in one of the shopping bags she had accumulated the night before. She added the finished Christmas cards and the gift basket meant for Brenda's teacher, setting the whole thing by the front door.

The next several hours were a blur. She could have opted to spend the day buried in mindless paperwork, but instead offered her services to Dr. Woo, who had been leading the search for a missing preschooler. The media had gotten wind of the child's disappearance and, for once, the circus-like atmosphere provided by the press was welcome. It meant she didn't have to think. Her brain was buzzing with facts and figures, with evidence and suspects. Like old times, she used work to take the pain out of life.

It only worked for so long, however. Peggy Oliver had called her as she was going over the missing child's backpack in the Layout Room. "I'm bringing the girls to ballet now, but I just wanted to invite you guys over Christmas Eve." She prattled on while Sara just stared at the primary-colored shiny plastic schoolbag in front of her.

"So, you game?"

"Sure," Sara said, doing her best to seem enthused.

"Great! And feel free to bring Gil," Peggy added.

"Oh…oh…he's…he'll be in California."

"Aw, that's too bad," she said. "We'll see you there."

Sara hung up her phone. The pain was back. The phone call had yanked her out of the work world and back into one where Grissom existed. Sighing deeply, she replaced the evidence into the proper bags and returned it to Dr. Woo.

"You have Christmas off, don't you?" he asked, taking the cardboard box evidence box from her.

"Yeah. I have off from Christmas until a little after New Years." It was funny how, just yesterday, she had been looking forward to that time off. Now, it seemed like an abyss.

"Well, I shall wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year now, just in case I do not see you. I have a feeling I'll be spending most of the near future giving press conferences," he sighed, nodding to the television that sat, muted, on a corner shelf. The coverage on the missing child seemed heavier than ever.

"Good luck with that."

"Thank you."

"And have a happy holiday," she said, and then exited his office, half wishing she could immerse herself in the case as he did.

On her way home, Sara picked up a pizza. As she settled the large box on the passenger's seat, it hit her that this was the first time in months she wasn't sure if Grissom was coming over to dinner. Unconsciously, she had bought enough food for three people.

Now, there would be leftovers.

She wanted to cry.

Instead, Sara buckled her seatbelt and drove home. Five minutes after her arrival, she welcomed her daughter home and encouraged the girl to tell her everything that had happened at school that day. She needed the distraction. As they ate their pizza, Brenda gleefully reenacted her teacher's reaction to the gift.

"She loved it so much!" Brenda said, her mouth full of pizza. "And the cupcakes were great and – hey. Where's Gil?"

"Uh…um…well, he's—" Her cell phone began to trill loudly. She bolted for her purse, which had been resting on one of the stools that lined the breakfast bar.

He was calling.

Sara took a deep breath and then flipped open her phone. "H-hi. Hi."

"Are you home?"

"Yes."

"Brenda's there, right?" he asked quickly.

"Yes."

"Okay. I've loaded up her gifts in my trunk. Do you think you could open your garage door for me so I can just put everything there where she can't see it?"

"Sure. Sure."

"Great. I'm on my way."

Sara raised her brows. "Goodbye."

She returned to the table and picked up her plate.

Brenda frowned. "You're done?" she asked, looking at the half-eaten slice that her mother was about to discard.

"Yeah. Not hungry. I ate at work," she lied. "You know…I think we've got some leftover cupcakes in the kitchen. If you finish your slice, you can have one."

The girl quickly began to gobble the rest of her slice of pizza.

"Slow down, slow down," Sara laughed. "The cupcakes aren't going anywhere." When Brenda resumed a more normal pace, she sighed. "I've gotta go to the garage. To check the...fuse box. I want to make sure everything is working."

"'Kay."

She slipped out to the garage and flipped the switch, watching as the door rose. To her surprise, Grissom's car was already waiting in the driveway.

"Hey."

"Hello," he said, quickly getting out of the driver's seat so he could unload the trunk. Sara wordlessly began to help him. She tried her best to swallow any bitterness she felt. These were, after all, presents for her daughter. And there were a lot of them.

"Wow. Is it just me or does it seem like there are more than there were yesterday?"

"There were some in my office that you didn't see," he told her, and she smiled despite herself. They quickly emptied his car, piling up the gifts in one corner on a tarp.

"Do you want some pizza? Or cupcakes? We have extra."

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "I, uh…"

"What?" she asked, meeting his gaze.

"I didn't get you anything. I…couldn't think of anything. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, shaking her head. "I don't need anything." _Except you_.

"I guess I'll get going now," he sighed.

Before she could answer, Sara paused, remembering the old Dr. Seuss book that was sitting, wrapped, in her office. "Wait," she exclaimed. "Your gift. You forgot your gift."

"Oh…you didn't have to," he began, but she immediately cut him off.

"Well, we did. It was Brenda's idea," she said as she opened the door to the house. He followed her in. "Bren," she called out.

"I'm in the kitchen!"

They found the girl pouring herself a glass of milk to go with her cupcake. "Hey, Gil! You want one? They're good."

"No, thank you," he smiled, a bit more relaxed than when he had first met Sara in the garage. "I bet they're better than the ones we made, huh?"

"Those were rocks," Brenda laughed.

Any other time, their sweet exchange would've brought Sara much joy, but she knew he was only there to say goodbye. "Kiddo, Gil's going to visit his mom in California, so can you run upstairs in my office and get his present?" She held her breath, waiting for the girl's reaction.

"You're going to California?"

Grissom seemed as wary of the girl's response as her mother was. "Yes," he said at length.

"Your mom lives near the ocean, right? The Pacific?"

"She does."

"Oh my gosh, can you send me a postcard? Of the ocean? That'd be so cool," the girl exclaimed.

"Oh, but you'll be in—"

Sara carefully nudged Grissom's side with her elbow before he could blurt out " New York." He got the message. "Sure. I'll send you a few."

"Great!" With that, Brenda darted past the two adults to fetch his present.

"Sorry about that," he said once the girl as out of earshot.

"It's okay," Sara sighed. "You don't have to send her postcards."

"I will."

Before anything else could be said, they heard footsteps once more. Brenda bounded into the kitchen and thrust the present into Grissom's hand. "But you can't open it until Christmas," she informed him excitedly.

"I won't." He smiled at her and then looked around awkwardly. "Your mom has my gift to you."

"Where?"

"It's hidden," he said slyly.

The next few minutes were spent with Brenda trying to wheedle information out of Grissom and him laughingly denying her. It was more than Sara could take. "Gil," she said abruptly, "aren't you leaving tonight?"

"Uh…yeah." He checked his watch. "I should get going."

They walked him to the door, watching as he made his way to his car. Before he got into the car, he turned to look at them both. Waving his present a little bit, he gave them a half smile. "Merry Christmas."

Brenda wished him the same, but Sara said nothing.

TBC…


	88. Chapter 88

A/N: You may wonder in amazement at the speedy updates. How could it be that I, the person who has dragged this fic out for going on three years, am not still taking six month vacations between chapters? I do not know. But what I do know is that I finished this fic. I'm still playing around with the last chapter and the epilogue, but I feel the need to warn those of you who expect warm and fuzzies and everything explained in detail for you: go read the warning I gave at the end of Chapter 65. And the epilogue is just weird, FYI. Weird even for me, and that's saying a lot because have you seen some of my titles?

Chapter 88 

The days leading up to Christmas were spent amiably enough. On the surface, no mother and daughter seemed happier. Sara did her best to conceal her unease over Grissom's departure. She hoped all of her worries would amount to nothing in the end, that he was just going on a long overdue trip to see his mother and that was it, and that he'd return to her – to them – ready to be in their lives, ready to love them both.

But she couldn't bury her doubts completely.

Still, she smiled through the Olivers' cocktail party, gratefully accepted their gifts, and chatted about what a crazy year of changes 2005 had been. Sara tried hard not to imagine what it would've been like had Gil been by her side. Every adult at the party seemed to be one half of a couple, save for her. It pained her how much she wanted him there, how much she wanted to share a mini spinach quiche tart with him or steal a moment in one of the themed rooms.

"Remember Big John?"

Sara turned quickly and saw Peggy carting the very same baby that had peed on her a few weeks earlier. He shook his rattle violently, babbling as he smiled at her.

"See? He missed you!" Peggy exclaimed as she thrust the baby into Sara's arms.

She balanced him on her hip. "Um…hello, there."

"Ba ba ba ba," he said, swinging his rattle around until it landed a sharp blow on her cheekbone. Sara winced. Her entire cheek stung.

"No, John!" Peggy scolded. "We don't hit," she told him, taking away the toy from the boy. He started to pout before discovering the wonder that was Sara's curly hair. He wound his chubby fingers in it, examining the strands with great care. Peggy wandered off to refill the cider, leaving Sara alone with the miniature follicle fetishist. He cooed as he raked his hands through her hair, surprisingly gentle considering his age.

Oddly enough, she found she didn't mind. She bounced John on her hip. "Will you be my date for this thing?" she laughed softly at him.

He smiled and slapped a hand against her mouth. "Poopy."

Sara's eyes widened. "Poopy?" she said against his fingers.

"Poopy," he squealed happily.

She pursed her lips. "Let's go find Grandma Peggy."

Late Christmas Eve, Sara located her sleeping daughter and carted her to the car. Once she drove home and was able to deposit Brenda into bed, she got to work on the presents. She loaded all of Grissom's gifts under the tree and then stood back to take in the sight. He had picked out every single present, had wrapped each carefully. Those acts were done in love, that much she was certain. He had love for the both of them, but the question was whether or not it was enough.

Sighing, Sara walked over to the breakfast bar where the travel folder lay. She wanted to surprise her daughter with the trip in a creative way instead of just saying, "By the way, we're going to New York tomorrow."

Flexing the right side of her brain, she located the atlas and made her way to her office, sitting down at her desk. She was going to take advantage of her daughter's inquisitive nature. She did a search for the latitude and longitude of New York City and then got to work, printing out the numbers 40, 47, 73, and 58. Next, she searched her folder of family photos, locating a picture of Brenda, standing and waving at the camera. Sara printed that out as well, making sure the finished product was only a couple of inches high. She cut out the miniature version of her daughter and taped it to the New York on the map. Excited by her flare of creativity, Sara went back downstairs and hid the atlas under the living room sofa. She tried hard to not think of what the following day would be like without Grissom, instead focusing on Brenda's happiness.

And Brenda was nothing but happy come Christmas morning. Her eyes seemed to grow wider as she opened present after present from Grissom's pile of gifts. Everything was her favorite, everything she loved more than anything. Sara only smiled as she stuffed wrapping paper into a garbage bag. She took great joy in her daughter's bliss, but she still felt the sting of Grissom's absence.

At least Brenda didn't seem to.

"I've gotta call Gil and thank him!" she said excitedly. "And I wanna know if he liked what we got him!"

Sara stopped her. "It's still early, Bren. He could be sleeping."

"Okay," the girl said brightly, and then dove back into her presents, leafing through a book on pilgrims.

"Um…you've got one more present waiting for you, B."

Brenda looked up. "Hmm?"

Sara retrieved the atlas and handed it to her, along with a sheet of paper that read the numbers 40, 47, 73, and 58.

"What's this?" she asked, confused.

"Figure it out," her mother smiled.

It didn't take more than a minute before Brenda was jumping up and down, alternately squealing and screaming. " New York?" she asked, hugging Sara.

"Yep," Sara smiled. "You've gotta pack your bags. We leave tomorrow."

Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough for Brenda. Her bag was packed before noon, and she would've gone to the airport then if it had been in her power. "I can't believe I'm going to go on an _airplane_."

Sara just grinned and admired the spray painted macaroni frame Brenda had given her as a gift.

They left for McCarran at six the next morning. Sara was a little tired, but Brenda was wired. Every new experience was amazing to her, and, in turn, it became amazing for Sara. The girl ooh'd and ahh'd everything she saw, no matter how mundane. She clung tightly to her boarding pass, reading and re-reading her name, still in disbelief that she was actually about to get on a plane to New York City.

"This is so cool," she said as the flight attendants announced it was time for them to line up.

They boarded the plane. Sara gave Brenda the window so the girl could enjoy the view. She had been a little bit nervous that the ten-year-old would be freaked out about her first plane ride, but her fears were unfounded. "What time is it?" Brenda asked, but then immediately followed it up with, "No, wait! One of the charms on my bracelet is a watch." She examined it before announcing, "It's 8:14."

"Ahh, thank you," Sara smiled, turning to her daughter who had suddenly become quiet. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"I didn't call Gil to thank him."

"Oh…"

"And he didn't call us. Do you think…do you think he didn't like the book?" she asked worriedly. "I mean, we just got him a book and he got me all this stuff."

"No. No, sweetheart. He must love it," Sara assured her.

"But he didn't call. Maybe he didn't like it. Maybe…maybe he's mad that I forgot to call him and thank him."

"He's not mad at you. Bren, the plane is about to take off, but the second we land, you can call him," Sara promised, doing her best to keep her voice light. She sat back in her chair and seethed. Since his departure, she had worked hard to excuse Grissom's absence, to justify it by the fact that he had bought Brenda a lot of presents and she seemed completely satisfied without him being there.

But his actions – or inaction, to be specific – had colored their holiday. Brenda was now staring blankly outside of the window at the tarmac, unenthused and unhappy. He hurt Brenda. However unintentionally, Grissom had hurt her daughter.

She turned her face into the aisle and away from Brenda and wiped furiously at her eyes. It was the last straw.

TBC…


	89. Chapter 89

Chapter 89 

Brenda was still in a funk when the plane landed. She squirmed in her seat as they taxied around the LaGuardia runway. "Can we call yet?"

"Not yet. Just wait until we get out of the plane."

The girl only sighed in response.

By the time they filed out of the plane, Brenda was downright antsy. "Can I call him now?"

Sara took out her phone, turned it on, and handed it to her daughter. "Press down the number one and hold it."

She did as she was told and held the phone to her ear. Sara could hear it go straight to voicemail and quickly advised her daughter to just leave a message of thanks.

"Hey, Gil!" Brenda said into the receiver, her voice tight with nerves. "I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday. I…anyway, thank you _so much_ for everything. I'm wearing the bracelet and I brought two Nancy Drew books with me and – oh, I'm in New York. My mom got me a trip for Christmas and I just went on a plane for the first time and…well, anyway, thank you so much! I guess I'll send you a postcard from here. Thank you."

Sara felt her heart clench. It hurt to see Brenda so fearful of Grissom's disapproval. In an odd way, she completely understood the feeling. She knew the confusion of not knowing what Grissom was thinking, of desperately wanting to get back in his good graces.

"Come on, kiddo. Let's get our bags."

Slowly, Brenda seemed to return to normal. She was intrigued by the baggage carousel and the line of taxis outside of the airport. She was enthralled by the cab ride to Manhattan, stunned speechless by the cluster of buildings springing up from a single island. They checked into their hotel and unloaded their bags with the help of a bellboy. Sara thanked the man, giving him a generous tip before turning to her daughter to gauge her reaction to the room.

"Mom, this…is…_so_…great," she said, scurrying around, investigating every corner before stopping at the large window in the living room area of the suite. "Oh my gosh! It's New York out there!"

"Yep," Sara smiled. "What do you want do first?"

"Everything!"

And they did. Sara and Brenda started at the bottom and worked their way up. They boarded the Circle Line, taking picture after picture of the city from the water. Afterwards, they explored the South Street Seaport. It took a few minutes for Brenda to get used to the smell of the nearby Fulton Fish Market, but very soon she was in love with all of the little stores and shops. They walked the cobblestone streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling Wall Street.

Chinatown was next. They bought little trinkets and sampled some vegetable dumplings – at least Sara hoped they were vegetable dumplings.

"Mom?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I want to live here when I grow up," Brenda stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, great," Sara smiled.

"I'd get to see all of this every day and meet all these people and—"

"And what?"

"Nothing. I changed my mind. I don't want to live here when I grow up."

Sara raised her brows. "Wow. Why the change of heart? If I remember correctly, ten seconds ago you were all ready to move."

"Yeah, but…if I live here, I won't be with you. I don't want to live far away from you," Brenda said earnestly.

Sara pursed her lips. She had never really thought that far into the future, but after a few seconds she realized she didn't ever want to live far away from her daughter, either. "I've got an idea."

Brenda looked up at her. "What is it?"

"Okay, you grow up and go to college and travel the world."

"Okay."

"And you figure out where it is you want to live. It could be New York. We could go to New Jersey tomorrow and you could love New Jersey even more. Or Los Angeles. Or Rio de Janeiro. Anyway, you pick a place and I will go with you."

"You will?"

"Yeah," Sara sighed. "I will."

"You'd leave Las Vegas for me?" Brenda asked incredulously.

"Yep. You're my family, kiddo," she said with a bittersweet smile.

Excited, the girl began to reformulate her plan to move to New York. "You could live next door to me. You could take care of my kids when I'm at work!"

Sara said nothing as she stared, wide-eyed, straight ahead. _Kids?_ She'd be a…a _grandmother_. And, even more shocking, her baby would be a mom. As they walked, hand-in-hand, along Canal Street, Sara marveled at how wonderful, how resilient, Brenda was. They had lived such similar existences, but unlike her mother who had pledged at age six to forgo motherhood, Brenda had not let her former circumstances taint her plans. She wanted to be a mom, she wanted to get a job and move to New York. She wanted so much for her future. She had plans, happy plans.

"I love you, B."

"I love you, too, Mom."

Sara smiled as she checked her watch, furrowing her brows for a moment before she realized it was still set to Las Vegas time. "Bren, it's getting a little dark. I think that we should head back uptown and then pick up where we left off tomorrow."

"I swear I'm not tired at all," the girl insisted.

"I know," Sara laughed. "But New York is three hours ahead and I'd rather not be wandering the streets in the dark. How about we go see the Rockefeller Center tree? That's close to our hotel."

Brenda happily agreed.

They took the subway – another adventure for the girl – back to midtown and began walking down Fifth Avenue towards the famous tree. The air was pleasantly crisp – not as cold as she remembered Boston to be, but certainly there was more bite to the chill than there was in a Las Vegas winter.

"Mom, your phone is vibrating."

"Hmm?"

"Your phone," Brenda repeated.

"Oh," Sara said, shaking her head as she reached into her coat pocket. It was Grissom. As much as she wanted to shove the phone back into her pocket, she knew that Brenda needed to talk to him, to know for sure that he was not mad at her in any way. "It's Gil. Why don't you answer it?" Sara asked, handing the phone to her daughter. "I bet he wants to talk to you."

Brenda looked wary, but took the phone anyway. "H-hello?"

Sara couldn't hear what he was saying on the other line, but she could tell by her daughter's reaction that he was saying what the girl needed to hear.

"You liked it? Really? Oh my gosh, thank you for everything. New York is so great. I'm going to move here when I grow up. It's so great. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah. Wow! Really? Yeah."

Curious, Sara listened carefully, trying to figure out what exactly they were discussing. Before she knew it, Brenda was holding the phone out to her. "Gil wants to talk to you."

Sara swallowed hard before putting the phone to her ear. "Hello."

"Hi."

She frowned, wondering if he really wanted to talk to her or if he just thought it would be improper to not speak with her after having spoken to her daughter already.

"Where are you?"

Sara bit her lip. "Excuse me?"

"Where are you?" he repeated.

"New York."

"I gathered that from Brenda," he said sarcastically. "Where in New York?"

"We're on Fifth and Fifty-Seventh Street. Across the street from Tiffany's."

"Good. Don't move."

She shook her head, wondering if she heard right. "What?"

"I said don't move." He hung up without another word.

Sara turned to Brenda, feeling very stupid as she said, "Gil told us not to move."

About ten minutes later, one of the many yellow cabs that were whizzing down the avenue stopped in front of them. After a few seconds, the trunk popped open. Sara drew her brows together in confusion.

"Gil!"

She saw Grissom exiting the backseat of the taxi. Brenda rushed to him, holding out her left arm so he could see the charm bracelet jingle on her wrist.

Sara stayed where she was.

Grissom wrapped his arm around Brenda's shoulder as his gaze met Sara's. She knew he could tell she was not amused. He quickly grabbed a medium-sized leather duffle bag out of the trunk and swung the strap onto his shoulder. Brenda kept chattering, but all her mother did was watch the cab speed off into the distance.

"And we saw the Statue of Liberty – from a boat though. I didn't get to climb into the crown. And now we're going to see the tree."

"Great," he said genially. "Let's go."

Grissom and Brenda walked side-by-side, Brenda doing all the talking and Grissom doing all the listening, as usual. He had his hand on her shoulder as they walked, tilting his head to the side so he could better hear her as the wind whipped around them. Sara walked alone, a single figure, to their right, crossing her arms over her chest more as a statement of her current mood than for warmth.

Sara only realized they had made it to the tree when she noticed her daughter had stopped talking. She turned her head, regarding it.

It really was a sight to behold – this massive emblem of nature surrounded by huge buildings, lit up for all to see.

"It's beautiful," Brenda murmured, her voice full of solemn reverence.

"It is, indeed," Grissom said. "What do you think, Sara?"

"It's nice," she answered quickly, her voice clipped.

"Bren," he said, turning to the girl, "do you have your camera with you?"

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled it out.

"Go stand over there with your mom," he told her, taking the camera from her hands. "Smile, Sara," he said, arching a brow her way.

She smiled for Brenda's sake as she leaned down closer to her, hugging the girl tight. He took the picture and then looked at the image in the display. "Bren, you blinked."

"Do it again!" she insisted.

He took another one. "Great," he said. "You both look beautiful." Brenda blushed, but Sara just narrowed her eyes at him.

"Gil, I want to take one. Stand there with Mom."

Stunned, Sara stood where she was while Grissom dropped his bag on the ground and quickly sidled on up to her. He put an arm over her shoulder.

She didn't lean into him.

Even though she wanted to.

Brenda took a few snapshots before she got one she deemed perfect. "Great," she exclaimed. "Okay, now me and Gil."

Even Grissom seemed surprised by the girl's suggestion, but he did nothing to deter her. Brenda handed the camera to her mother and then went to stand by him. He hoisted her up, to her delight.

"Okay, Mom. Now!"

Sara pressed the button and held it down until she heard the shutter click. Out of habit, she glanced at the tiny LCD screen and froze.

There they were.

Smiling.

Her two favorite people.

She felt the tears begin to gather in her eyes and quickly cleared her throat. "We should, uh, get going. It's getting late."

For the first time since he set foot on New York soil, Grissom looked unsure of himself.

"Where are you staying, Gil?" Brenda asked eagerly.

"I…don't know."

"Oh my gosh, you should stay at our hotel," she told him. "It's amazing. The bathrooms have two toilets."

He smiled at her, regaining some of his composure. "Two toilets? Well, I'll definitely have to check that out." He looked at Sara once more, tilting his head to the side.

She lifted her chin. "We're staying a few blocks from here," she said primly.

"Lead the way." The challenge was back in his voice.

It thrilled her, but she wouldn't let him see that. They walked in silence to the hotel.

Sara and Brenda waited by the reception desk as Grissom booked a room.

"Aw, you're not on our floor," Brenda lamented when he told her his room number as they waited by the elevator.

"What room are you guys in?"

"Four twenty-four," the little girl said proudly while her mother frowned.

They rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. When the doors opened, Sara turned to Grissom. "Goodbye."

The steely tone she hoped would echo in his ears was immediately obliterated by Brenda's enthusiastic, "We'll see you tomorrow!"

The Sidle women got ready for bed with a lot on their minds. Brenda's brain was buzzing with all things Big Apple while her mother couldn't stop thinking about the man two floors above them.

"Brush your teeth, B," she said as she rooted around her suitcase for her own toothbrush. The girl obliged. Just as Sara had located what she had been looking for, the hotel phone began to ring. She shook her head and reached for it, wondering if she had forgotten something in the lobby. "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Grissom," she said flatly.

"I need to talk to you."

"Well, that's not going to happen."

"Brenda's not asleep yet?"

"No, she's not. And even if she was, it's not going to happen," Sara said sternly.

"We need to talk," he told her. "I have a lot of things to say."

She sighed, hating herself for being intrigued. "Come here in a half hour. She'll be asleep by then."

He did as he was told. Exactly thirty minutes later, Sara heard a soft knock at the door. She closed the door leading to the bedroom and slowly walked towards the direction of the knocking.

"Sara," Grissom breathed the moment he laid eyes on her.

He instinctively moved forward to embrace her, but she held her hands up. "Stop."

He did. "Can I come in?"

She stood aside, leaving him room to slip by her and into the small living room. "What is it you want?"

"I want to apologize. For leaving. For the way I left. I—"

"She felt horrible that you didn't call. She felt worse thinking you'd be mad at her for not calling. She wanted to – early Christmas morning she was going to call you, but I told her to wait."

"Sara, I'm so sorry."

"She didn't speak one word on the plane coming here because she thought you'd be mad." It satisfied Sara to see a look of real devastation mar his face. "You can't do that to her. You can't be her buddy one day and then disappear the next."

"I know. I have no plans to do that."

"To do what?"

"To disappear again."

She took a step back in confusion, in self-preservation. "What?"

"Sara, I – I have so much to say to you."

TBC…


	90. Chapter 90

Chapter 90

He sat down on the loveseat and motioned for her to take the seat next to him.

She chose the chair on the opposite side of the coffee table.

Undeterred, Grissom took a deep breath and pressed on. "Thank you for the book."

Nonplussed, Sara fumbled for a response. She didn't expect the first words out of his mouth to be about his Christmas present. "I…well…you're welcome. It was Brenda's idea."

A corner of his mouth lifted into a slight, secret smile before he shook his head and addressed her once more. "I didn't open it until I got Brenda's voicemail. I…had forgotten about it," he said guiltily. "I went to California with a lot on my mind, a lot to talk about with my mother."

Sara nodded, feeling butterflies in her stomach. So he had left to tell his mother about them, to let her know and perhaps get her blessing. Relief sparked in her in her heart, warming her.

"I had a lot of questions for her," he continued, his eyes on his hands as he spoke.

She furrowed her brows. Questions? The tiny flicker of relief was once again doused out.

"It's hard. It's hard because -- she's…she's my family. For years it was just the two of us. We did everything just the two of us. I didn't have friends like Brenda does. I didn't have sleepovers; my mom didn't invite people over for dinner. We were alone, but we weren't lonely. At least, I didn't really feel lonely," he said, looking up to meet her gaze. "I got there late Thursday night. I was prepared to spend the next few days talking to her about…about a lot of stuff."

She inhaled, raising her brows.

"But I couldn't," Grissom sighed. "You live your whole life with a person one way and…it's hard to change. I told you a little bit about what it was like for me growing up – about my mom and how she was after my father left."

Sara nodded her head slowly, her face giving nothing away.

"She was like that for a long time. The general consensus among friends and family seemed to be that she was very pretty and could easily land another husband," Grissom explained. "A stepfather."

Sara frowned at the tone of his voice.

"That word scared me," he continued. "All I knew about stepparents was what I saw in the movies – the evil queen trying to kill her stepdaughter, Snow White; Cinderella getting locked away by her evil stepmother. It sounds…so stupid saying this out loud, but that was my world. I used to spend nights planning what I'd do when my mother brought home my evil stepfather. I imagined a man who had no tolerance for my silly hobbies, who only valued sports and all the stuff I wasn't good at. I was certain he'd make me live in the attic. I was five, Sara. Five years old. I was smart, but not smart enough to know my mother would never let any of that happen. So all of this festered in my brain."

She understood. She didn't admit it to him, but she understood was it was to let the irrationalities of a corrupt childhood spoil the outlook of an adult.

"I…began to slowly store supplies up in the attic: blankets, old sleeping bags, non-perishable food, getting ready for the day when that would be my home. Is it any wonder I have so many collections of junk today?" he asked rhetorically. "I'm still five years old, hoarding my possessions, ready to hide at a moment's notice. The day when I'd have to move up there to hide from the wrath of my mother's new husband never came. She never remarried. She never dated. We had this neighbor," Grissom said, wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger. "He was my high school principal, about ten or so years older than my mom. His wife had died right after they had gotten married. No kids. He had always been so nice to me. He was kind of a nerd, like me. He understood me, let me get out of gym so I could take extra science classes…" Grissom paused, lost in the memory, before something triggered him to continue. "So, one day, I'm mowing the lawn – it was my job. I had to do it every Saturday. I was about fourteen or so and I'm mowing the lawn and I go to put the lawnmower back in the shed while my mom tends to her flowers, and out of the corner of my eye I see him come up to her. He starts…starts _signing_. He's sloppy at first, but I can tell he practiced. He asks her out to dinner and I can feel my heart just…stop. It stops beating right there in my chest until I see her shake her head and tell him – not sign – that she has a son, that she can't go out with him or anyone. I can't tell you the relief I felt, Sara," he breathed, looking unusually haggard as he relived the memory. "And he was a good man. He would've been good for her," Grissom insisted. "He would've been good for me. We would've both had…someone. But all I could feel was relief. There would be no evil stepfather. No living in the attic."

He sat back on the loveseat and shook his head. "Sara, I may have grown up with a single mother, but I don't have much experience with them. The only other single mother I knew was Catherine."

Flustered, Sara shook her head. "Catherine?"

"When she got divorced I thought she'd do the right thing. I thought she'd do what my mom did," Grissom clarified. "I remember when she started going on and on about meeting men, I told her that she should probably just focus on her daughter and, well, that was the first and last time I ever gave her dating advice. She didn't take kindly to it," he said, smiling slightly. "And so she dated I don't know how many men and she'd just keep complaining about how Lindsey was acting up, how her grades were slipping, how she was getting into fights at school. It all just…reinforced what I felt was true. Whenever Catherine would complain, I'd just tell myself how happy I was that my mother had her priorities straight. And I continued to think that way. Until you got sick."

"You mean the meningitis?"

"Yes," he said gravely. "I got involved because I was afraid for you. I had no intention of interfering beyond getting you better. But I was weak. I loved being with you both. And, gradually, I shoved every notion I had formed into the back of my mind and let myself be with you, let myself spend time with the two of you even though it went against everything I believed was right. I almost walked away during Thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving?"

"My editor set up a meeting at NYU. They invited me to run their entomological department, to coordinate it in conjunction with a new forensics program they're doing with the city. They'd be using my textbook."

Sara sat back, astounded. She knew what an honor it was to have been offered such a prestigious position, how much it spoke to his skill that he was asked. As what Grissom said registered in her brain, she recalled what he had told her after she picked him up from the airport. He had said everything he ever wanted professionally had been his for the taking in New York. And then he said all he could think about was her.

"You wanted the job?"

"No," he told her.

"But…it's your dream job."

"Yes, but…when they offered it to me, all I wanted to do was go home to you."

"So you came home so things could continue as they were?"

He nodded. "Correct. And things continued as they were…"

Sara pursed her lips, following along. "Until I suggested we tell Brenda about us," she said, finishing the sentence. After a few seconds, she sat up straight and eyed him stonily. There was no way he could talk her into continuing their liaison behind her daughter's back for the rest of their lives. He couldn't have his cake and eat it, too.

"Yes. And suddenly…suddenly everything that I had held back – everything that I had shoved into the back of my brain about what I knew of single mothers – flooded my senses. And I realized…I'm not the kid anymore. Brenda is. She's me, all those years ago. And I just…I didn't want her to feel what I did growing up. I didn't want her to be afraid, to worry that someone would want to lock her up in the attic or give her a poison apple or whatever. I just…I couldn't do that to her."

Feeling her throat tighten, Sara shook her head. "But…but you would never do that to her."

"I know I wouldn't. But logic doesn't really apply here, Sara. Forty years of an ingrained belief – however invalid it may be – is at work."

"So what made you come to New York? Why are you here?"

"I got Brenda's message and she sounded…she sounded not quite herself. I had left the present on the passenger's seat of my car, so I ran down to get it," he explained. "I opened it right there and the moment I saw the book…I just…I found my voice. I showed it to my mother. . I told her about you and Brenda. And I told her about me – about how I felt all these years. She cried. She cried and apologized."

"Apologized?"

"It took me by surprise, too" he said, shifting in his seat. "For years I thought she had done everything perfectly, that she was the perfect mother. I told her that, and she just kept saying she was sorry, sorry that she let me go through life thinking like that, sorry that you had to suffer, too. I got you a present."

Stunned, Sara raised her brows at the sudden shift in conversation. "What?"

"I got you a present."

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"Anything you want."

"Excuse me?"

Grissom scooted closer to her, taking one of her hands in his. "You get to pick how this ends, what you want to happen. I'll do whatever you want. If you want us to go back to Vegas and keep the status quo, that's fine. If you want me to go back to work, fine. If you want me to take the job in New York and we'll be together long distance, I can deal with that. If you never want to see me again," he added, "well…I will try to accept that. It's up to you. Just tell me what you want and I'll do it."

"I don't want that," Sara said quickly, her voice reverberating through the space as she pulled her hand from his. She remembered her sleeping daughter a room away and quickly adjusted her volume. "I don't want you to just…to just _do_ whatever I say. I want you to do what you want to do. I don't want to have to ask for something from you only to wonder if you're complying because you want to or because you feel obligated to. And I sure as hell don't want you to freak out again and up and leave the way you did. I'm used to your crap, but Brenda isn't. You can't run hot and cold with her. You can't treat her that way."

"I know that. I'm trying. I really have tried."

Sara sat back in her chair. "I know. I wouldn't have said I wanted to tell Brenda about us if I didn't think you were at least sincere in that regard."

"But?"

"But I'm questioning how committed you are."

"Sara, I love you."

"I know that."

"I've loved you for so long."

"I know that, too," she said soberly.

"I've had this plan for so many years – this plan of what to do with you."

She raised her brows. "What to do with me?"

"I wanted to ask you out right away, right after you came to Vegas. But I knew I couldn't. I knew how it would look. We'd both be labeled and your career could be ruined. And you were only twenty-nine. I was forty-four. I told myself to wait a year. I told myself that thirty and forty-five didn't seem nearly as bad as twenty-nine and forty-four. In my head, I had it all worked out," he told her. "We would date. Six months in, you'd move into my townhouse. Six months later – you'd be thirty-one by then. I'd be forty-six – if you wanted to get married, we could get married. A year later, if you wanted a child, we could have a child. You'd be thirty-two, I'd be forty-seven."

"You were…you were thinking about all this?"

"I had so many contingency plans. But that was the main plan," he said. "But six months into your stay in Vegas, I failed to make a move. Too cowardly. So the plan got pushed back. And if you wanted a kid, you'd be thirty-three and I'd be forty-eight by the time it happened – according to my plan. And then another year went by and you were dating someone else. The plan got pushed back yet again. If you wanted a child," he continued, "I'd be forty-nine. Another year and I did nothing. Fifty. And then you went and did something extraordinary."

"What?"

"You had a kid without me." He rubbed his temple vigorously. "I was convinced it was the end of my plan. I was convinced that you adopting Brenda meant you had officially withdrawn your potential involvement in something you had no idea about. I believed that even as I agreed to help you when you were sick. But then something changed. It was what Brenda said."

Sara furrowed her brows. "What did Brenda say?"

"She asked me how old I was on my birthday, and then she said that I was thirty-nine when she was born."

"O…kay."

"Don't you see?"

"No, I don't," she said honestly.

"She was already born. She's already here. The plan…I was waiting for the plan to start, and it hit me then that…that it already started. And every day I spent being a coward was a waste. Because she's here."

"Grissom," Sara began, tears clouding her vision, "what is it you want?"

"I want you. Both."

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE EPILOGUE…


	91. Epilogue

A/N: This is an unconventional epilogue.

Epilogue 

**March 21st 2007**

**New York City Crime Lab **

**New York, New York**

I hate Missing Persons cases.

It's the not knowing that kills me. The wondering. It's all theories and speculation. I like facts. I like having something to work with, something to hold in my hands, to touch, to smell.

I remember September 11th, waiting for that call from my wife to let me know she was okay, that she had gotten out of the North Tower safely, that she was walking home in the fog of debris with thousands of others. I remember staring at my phone and waiting for the call. Waiting, and never getting one. Everyone at the lab, they'd clap their hands on my shoulder and say the rescue workers would find her, that she was just waiting to be saved.

Waiting.

I was the one waiting. Waiting in a long line at the morgue to identify her lifeless body.

The pain was unbearable, but I needed to feel it. I let it consume me. She was no longer one of the missing. Her death was no longer an abstract. It was real. Tangible. It was mine.

So many cops lost their lives that day and here I am, Detective Mac Taylor, breathing. Breathing while my wife is underground.

She should be mourning me. I should've been in the towers. I should've been one of the missing.

It didn't work that way.

So here I am. Like some kind of cosmic joke, I have to relive that feeling of not knowing every time a Missing Persons case comes across my desk. I look at the label on the file in my hands: Sally Carpenter. Her photo is paper-clipped to the inside of the folder and I sigh in disgust. She's pretty. Blonde. Big smile. Disappeared on her way home from a friend's thirtieth birthday party in the Village.

Her mother reported her missing.

I flip through the Missing Persons report and stop cold on the third page.

Sally had worked in the South Tower on 9-11. She had been there. She had survived.

And now she was missing.

I reach for my phone and dial Stella's number. "I need you to take this case for me."

"Mac, I would, but I'm in the middle of that cop shooting. The commissioner is breathing down my neck and I—"

"Stella, please," I say quickly.

"I…I'll see what I can do, Mac," she sighs.

**August 19th 2007**

**Fresh Kills Landfill**

**Staten Island, New York**

I hate going to Staten Island. It's so disconnected from the rest of the city. Whenever I'm there, I feel like I'll never be able to leave, like I'm sinking in quicksand and can't quite get out of it.

Still, Staten Island, here I come. A dead body has been found just outside of Fresh Kills. Foul play is suspected. A dead body plus an old landfill always equals foul play. No one just wanders up to a two-thousand acre landfill and kicks the bucket unceremoniously.

The crime scene is being guarded by a local cop, a green rookie who looks ready to puke if he has to spend one more minute with the corpse. "Why don't you take a breather, son?" I tell him, flashing my badge. "Get a drink of water."

"Thank you, sir."

I watch him run off before I turn to take in the sight. She's naked. Young – probably mid-twenties to early thirties. In good shape, too. There's a bag over her head, but by the extensive bruises that mottle her pale skin, I can't be sure if suffocation did her in.

She's got no I.D. – obviously. I lean in close, crouching down to get a better look. Damn, it's hard on my knees, but I'm not complaining. Marines don't complain.

Robbery obviously wasn't a motive: there's a delicate chain circling her throat, just below where the bag is tied. I tilt my head and notice a little charm that had slid down to the back of her neck. With a fine pair of forceps, I grasp the gold charm, twisting it so I can get a better look.

"S.C.?" I say out loud to no one. "South Carolina? Saint Catherine? S…Sally Carpenter." I almost lose my balance then and there. I carefully untie the black plastic bag around her head, adrenaline pumping through my veins with a fury I've known only once before.

"Sally," I breath. "Sally." There she is. Beautiful. Dead. I think back to her Missing Persons file. When did she disappear? March? April? Either way…either way she hasn't been dead long. Not long at all. "Oh, Sally."

I stand up quickly and squeeze my eyes shut. Oh shit. I de-glove and reach for my cell phone, dialing Stella's number. "Hey, what's up?"

No time for pleasantries. I talk fast: "Do you remember that Missing Persons case I handed over to you a few months ago? Sally Carpenter."

"Uh…no."

"Remember…you said you were too busy for it because you were working the cop case. Remember?" I ask desperately.

"Oh…oh that," she says, and I breath a sigh of relief when I hear recognition in her voice. "I gave it to the new guy."

"The new guy?"

"Yeah. The professor. You know…the one who's over at NYU training new recruits. Dr. Grissom."

"I never met him."

"Well, neither of you seem gung-ho for faculty functions," she remarks. "Call him. He worked it."

I get the number from her and punch it into my phone.

"Grissom."

"Dr. Grissom, this is Detective Mac Taylor. I understand you worked the Sally Carpenter Missing Persons case."

I hear him suck in a breath. "Yes."

"A body's been found outside of Fresh Kills. It's Sally. I'm almost positive."

"Are…are you sure? She's been missing for months."

"She may have been missing for months, but my guess is she's been dead less than a day," I tell him as I squint into the hot sun. "There was a plastic bag over her head but I'm not sure if she suffocated. She's covered in bruises – some fresh, some not," I say, grimacing as the words leave my mouth. "And she's got a necklace with—"

"An S and a C on it?" he asks.

"Yes."

"It's her."

**August 19th 2007**

**New York City Morgue**

**New York, New York**

This Grissom guy doesn't talk much. I'm guessing we're about the same age, though his hair is practically white. He looks old, tired, and I'm not sure if it's the case or that's just how he is.

Upon seeing Sally on the slab, he notes that her body had been washed prior to being dumped, and that there'd be little to no physical evidence to go on.

Dr. Grissom is a buzzkill.

I'm pumped. I'm ready to solve this thing, to bring Sally's killer to justice. The facts may be few and far between, but at least we have facts now, and not theories. I want him to talk me through his notes, through the evidence he had gathered after Stella gave him the case.

He only says, "We need to tell her mother."

**August 20th 2007**

**Home of Patricia Carpenter**

**Whitestone, New York**

Mrs. Carpenter greets us at the door. Before we can open our mouths, she leads us into her living room and runs to the kitchen to make us coffee.

I sit on the plastic-covered couch, and Dr. Grissom follows suit. "So…" I begin, "how are you liking New York?"

"It's good," he says.

"Where did you come from? Arizona?"

"Nevada."

What a skilled conversationalist. I hear Mrs. Carpenter banging around the clutter in her kitchen. The old woman sounds like she's cooking a four course meal. "You live in Manhattan?"

"Upper East Side."

Swanky.

We sit together in silence until the dotty Mrs. Carpenter comes in carrying a tray with cake and coffee. "Here you go," she smiles, setting it down on the coffee table.

I look at Dr. Grissom, unsure who should start the talking. It's his case and I'm willing to let him take the lead, but he just sits back.

"Mrs. Carpenter," I begin, "the last time you saw Sally—"

"Was my birthday," she smiles. "March 17th. My sixty-eighth. She gave me this," Mrs. Carpenter says, reaching up to her throat to grasp a pearl pendant. "Isn't it lovely?"

"It is," Dr. Grissom nods.

"Just what I always wanted. She's my youngest, but she knows me the best," the woman says dreamily. "Sally was a surprise. Don – my late husband – and I had two girls and two boys and thought we were done having kids, but then Sally came along. My little surprise," she says wistfully.

I frown. This poor woman speaks as if Sally is about to walk through the door. It happens sometimes. Some family members just can't live with the notion that a loved one is gone, so their brain masks the obvious and they go on as if their loved one is just a phone call away. "Mrs. Carpenter…"

"Did I tell you what a great swimmer my Sally is?" She reaches over to an end table and plucks up a picture frame. "This is her at one of her swim meets. She came in first place. She always does." Mrs. Carpenter puts the picture back down and regards us with a smile. "Do you have children?"

I hate that question. "I, uh…no."

We both turn to Grissom.

"Just one."

THE END

A/N#2: I've watched CSI: New York all of two and a half times. I read the wiki entry on Mac Taylor and realize that his wife's remains were never found, but…I don't care. I apologize to anyone from Staten Island. "Working Girl" was on when I was writing. If you've never seen that movie, well...Harrison Ford takes off his shirt in it. Incentive enough?

A/N #3: Just as I finished this last chapter, I turned on SPIKE and "Blood Drops" had begun. How's that for weird? I want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story for two and a half years. I want to thank everyone who encouraged me. I want to thank my beta extraordinaire, SBT, who guides me in the right direction. Oddly enough, after all the twists and turns I took writing this fic, it ended up exactly where I had planned it. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It's a little bittersweet posting it. I was happy that I was finished, but now I'm a little bit sad that it's over.

Thank you all for being a part of this journey.


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